Turning Page aka Game of Clones(!)
by icancervive
Summary: "Some souls are just destined to meet,fated to intertwine,maybe to correct a grievous mistake,or maybe they were meant to be together,that no matter which world or life, they find one another,like a missing puzzle piece" A mysterious foreigner,a death that rocks the kingdoms, intrigue, betrayal, redemption, an intricate mystery linking their lives together. Set in Westeros. Tfornow
1. Ravens and tears

"Pardon me, princess," the voice faintly registers in her mind, which was currently preoccupied with the various mixtures in front of her. "Your father calls for you in his quarters." That got her attention, and Cosima straightens from the stool she's been sitting on for the most part of her day, turning to face one of her father's royal guards, standing stoically on the doorway.

"Did he say why?" _Why did he send a guard?_

"No princess, only that it is urgent and that I escort you."

"Oh no, that's okay, you can go ahead and tell him I'm right behind you."

"I apologize princess, but I must insist. Your father has made it quite cle-"

"Alright, alright," she cuts him, sighing, trying not to be irritated. _Poor guy's just following orders_. She hops off, stretching her cramped muscles and closing her strained eyes, before walking past the guard who she knows is following five steps behind her.

She doesn't bother knocking when she reaches her father's chambers, roughly pushing the door open, still miffed at being escorted. The middle aged man turns to look at the rude and noisy entrance, noticing the apology and panic in the guardd's eyes. He nods at him, silently telling the young man to leave them alone. A bow, and then Cosima hears the door behind her quietly click.

"Really father? An 'escort'?" she fumes a little as she approaches, but is smiling, glad to see her father in the outdoors, even if it was just a balcony, his poor health often requiring him to stay indoors.

He snorts, enveloping her in a hug."Hah, knowing how you are, coming in the afternoon when I call you in the morning." She smiles sheepishly at this.

"You never really minded." she comments.

"Yes, well, at least I know it's because you're doing all your little combinations and tests. Someone has to drag you out of the cellar once in a while," he smiles at her, but it doesn't reach his eyes. It does not go unnoticed.

"What is it, father? What is this urgent matter that you escorted me here for?" she tries to keep her tone light, but the worry in her voice is more pronounced, her mind already jumping to conclusions in regard to her father's health.

"A raven just came." it was only then that she notices the small scroll still clutched in his hand, "news from The Capital." Cosima waits patiently, noting the glazed eyes and the constant swallowing. He clears his throat before announcing "the Hand of the King is dead."

Understanding dawns on her face, and she immediately hugs him. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, as her own sadness envelopes her,for the man who always brought her books and informative gifts in the few times he visited or the few times she's been to the Capital, fostering her mind, recognizing the brilliance in her. She knows her sadness is nothing compared to her father's.

"He was a friend," even his voice sounds broken. "A very good friend."

She links her arms in his, "You've lost a dear friend, someone you regarded as your brother. I'm sorry." There is nothing much that she can say.

"The Seven Kingdoms would be sorrier without him. Ethan's the reason it has flourished for two decades, establishing alliances, trade, bussiness, treaties,...no, the Seven Kingdoms would suffer more than you and I. He truly is a great man," she sees his jaw clench, can feel the frustration from him, "and I can't even pay my respects" he mutters.

"Don't even think about it. The Maester says you are in no condition to travel, and King's Landing is-"

"I know that!" Frustration. Powerless at the hands of poor health. Painful acceptance.

He sighs, his palm washing over his face and beard."I'm sorry child. It just pains me, not to be able to go. Which is why I called for you. I would like you to go in my stead."

"Of course."_I would have forced you to let me go anyway,bar the circumstance._ "I liked him too. I owe a lot to him. Of course I'll go." He nods, and they settle in a comfortable silence.

"Plus, it would also be an opportunity for me to collect and study more of their grapes and different wood that can be used as a cask. I've also been thinking about brewing ale, dark ale, along with the wine, and would like to visit Highgarden to handpick the malt, barley.. "

A quiet chuckle stops her tirade. "Gods daughter, only you could make this a learning experience. We are already producing wine, excellent wine, thanks to your tinkering and analytical ventures." _And your fascination to living things_, he mentally adds.

"I know, but there's still so much more we could make, different kinds, with different casks, concentrations, ratios of the ingredients-"

"Child, you lost me at 'ratios' " he was still smiling. "Always my curious little girl."

"I am not a little girl" she protests with a scoff "and I owe it to him, you know. He encouraged and fed my curiousity, even though I'm a girl, the Maesters in training would-"

"Oh screw those pretentious pricks. You're more brilliant than half of them combined, Ethan knew that."

She smiles, a new wave of affection washing over her. "I was supposed to ask your permission to go visit him, to ask him what i just told you. Maybe establish a trade."

. Quiet understanding.

"You travel in a fortnight."

* * *

><p>"What do you mean you don't know what caused it, it's your job to know!" They've been discussing this for hours, without being any closer to the answer as when the question was raised, and Rachel was starting to lose the cool demeanor she usually employed during small council meetings. "Men don't just get sick and die. At least not my father, I know him" she quietly seethes, trying to regain her composure.<p>

A beat of silence. Tense. Uncomfortable.

The Lord of Whispers breaks it, clothed in his colorful and artistic robes. "There is one possibility. But I never brought it up because it makes no sense. Ethan Lannister was loved and respected, even by those who know him in the East."

"Out with it, Lord Felix."

"Poison."

The atmosphere stiffens. Taut.

"Like I said, it makes no sense. The tears of Lys. Tasteless and clear as water. Rare and extremely deadly, it leaves no trace."

Her hope deflates. "So it cannot be detected." It was more of a statement than a question.

_This is new information, but it doesn't do much good, not when it's just speculation._

"Actually, there might be." Heads turn to face Aldous.

Doubt. Incredulity.

"There are rumors of someone who developed a method to detect it, sort of an expert in the field. It is still being refined, of course, so detecting it might take some time."

Felix was trying not to show any outward reaction. "I've heard similar whispers. But at the moment, that's all they are, whispers. Which begs the question," he trains his eyes towards the balding man in black robes, chains hanging on his neck, "how ever did you hear of this mysterious person, and a foreigner from Lys no less, known only in...the right circles. That's really more of my domain, don't you think?"

An amused smile. Taunting. "Well I am the Grand Maester, I do believe I'm in one of those circles, don't you think."

"And I do believe maesters, especially the Grand Maester, is concerned more on healing rather than killing." Sarcasm. Sass.

"Enough, both of you!" the power and warning in her voice effectively bringing them to heel. "I don't care if it's a magician, a sorcerer, or a ghost. If there's a chance he can prove it, then bring him to me."

"Her." Two voices, the first thing they agree on.

"Excuse me?"

"Her, my Lady" Felix repeats.

A golden brow raised. "And does this 'her' have a name?"

"Delphine of Lys."

* * *

><p>AN: OK,seriously, this is something that has been bugging my mind for quite a while now until it's consuming me and driving me crazy, and seriously,why is Game of Clones not a thing?(after I laughed and laughed manically for two whole minutes, in public with people starting to give me looks, at how stupidly genious it sounds, the utter cornyness and geekiness of it) am I the only one who cannot unsee Rachel as a Lannister, as if she was born to be a Lannister?No? okay.<p>

Also, English isn't my first language, heck, it isn't even my second language, so my apologies for all present and future mistakes. I'd really appreciate feedback to bounce and form ideas with.


	2. The Owl and The Wall

"There are other issues that need to be addressed, my Lady." The Grand Maester's stiff words diverts their attention.

"Yes, like who will be appointed as the next hand." _I can't even imagine anybody else as Hand of the King,_ Felix despondently thinks. "I'm sure we all agree that a new Hand is vital if we intend to keep revolts and disruption from happening and everything the former Hand has built from collapsing. The King is still quite...inexperienced concerning matters of the state."

Rachel grinds her teeth. _Understatement of the year. He is a year older than I and other than his gullibility and sometimes kindness, he is still less than a tenth of my capabilities. _

Grand Maester Aldous shakes his head, the numerous chains clinking against each other."I'm afraid only the King decides and appoints who the next hand is."

"In that case, somebody make sure the King's useless bum is not in a brothel but seated on that chair during the next meeting," she coldly reminds them. Nobody reacts in indignation as is expected when the king is referred to without respect. One, because they know it's true, and two, it was spoken by Rachel Lannister, so nobody would dare. The men simply sigh in reaction to her harsh words, which is basically an act of treason, because they know it to be the shameful truth, but have long accepted it, and because the Hand always managed to fix things and was keeping the kingdoms together. _But now the Hand is dead_, they uniformly thought.

"The appointment of the new Hand will be decided on the next council meeting, when the King is present." They all nod in agreement.

Someone cleared his throat, and the she shifts in her seat to face Lord Commander Gavin Hardcastle, who voiced his concern. "There is also the issue of the recent vacancy in the Kingsguard. Someone has to fill it."

"That will also be settled during the next meeting, seeing as our beloved King makes the appointments to the Kingsguard."

"Yes, milady."

"If there are no more matters, then we should adjourn and prepare for the guests who will be coming over to pay their respects."

Grand Maester Aldous is the first to say "agreed"

"Agreed," the Lord Commander and Master of Whisperers echo, while Rachel, silently notes the absence of two more Masters.

* * *

><p>Cosima's nose instantly crinkles the moment she enters the city. <em>This is definitely the one thing I don't miss. <em>Even from inside the carriage, she can still smell the pungent odor that is distinctively King's Landing. _At least it doesn't smell that much as to when I first came here._ A frown and a crinkle at her brow appears as she realizes it must have been due to Ethan's efforts, feeling a new wave of loss as she she slowly begins to realize the impact his death would bring. Her thoughts remain on the subject until she hears one of the horses clip clop closer by the carriage blinds.

"Princess, we are nearing the Red Keep." At this, she snaps the window open, sticking her head out, not minding the protests from the royal guard, to gaze at the towers, forming a curved slope when seen from far away. _It didn't change much. Maybe a new tower or two._ She suddenly feels apprehension as the towers draw nearer and nearer.

_This is not the circumstance I imagined when I planned to come here. Would the new Hand even listen to my proposals and plans?_

* * *

><p>"May I present Princess Cosima Martell of Dorne." Somehow, it always irked her whenever they announced her presence, and though she is surprised that only a few people were in the throne room, less than ten by her count, she prefers it that way, never being fond of being stared at by hundreds of people trying to outdress each other. <em>No scrutinizing crowd, good.<em>

She couldn't look at him, not yet, she doesn't think she's ready to see the brilliant and revolutionary man to be so lifeless. To her, it just seems wrong, so she keeps her gaze straight, and walks towards the woman in a red gown laced with gold at the sleeves and shoulders, a golden belt cinched at her waist, observing the actions of the Silent Sisters, carefully putting on the former Hand's finest clothes. She stops at a distance as the woman looks at her, concentration broken by the announcement of her arrival. They silently stare at each other. Cosima takes in the short blonde hair with its sharp angles ending at the chin, the cold calculating stare, the proud and regal bearing she has in the way she stands, hands clasped together in front of her abdomen. "Rachel?" she blurts out. _Seven hells, what happened to the smiling kid with twin braids hanging on both shoulders?_

"It's Lady Rachel to you, _princess_." A raised brow, a sneer, and she says the word not as a title but as if it was an afront.

_I take back my first thought, Rachel is absolutely the one thing I don't miss._

Rachel observes the olive skin tone, dark hair, and dark eyes that mark the Dornish, the visible ink on her shoulder, the intricate hair, "what happened to your hair?"

"What happened to yours" Cosima fires back.

"I was nine."

"So was I, _my Lady._" Cosima scoffs.

Rachel chooses to ignore the jibe. "And what is that...thing on your face." she gestures at the pair of rounded glass held together by a small metal arch at the top, and perched at her nose, with thin metal frames looping at her ears.

At this, the Dornish flashes a genuine smile. "Oooh, my spectacles. They are basically two lenses that..." she launches on a full description, excited to explain. "I designed them myself" she says proudly. Rachel's face, however, shows disinterest and hasn't moved even by a centimeter.

"You look like a silly owl." An amused tone meant to mock.

"And you look like you've been carved from The Wall with an icicle still stuck up your ass. These help my vision." They glare at each other until one of the Sisters approaches warily, holding out a beautiful sword, the question clear even though no words were spoken:_ should the sword be included?_

The silent question makes them both aware of where they are,feeling shame that the first thing they do is fight like children in front of his corpse.

"No, no sword, he hated fighting, he was a man of peace." The Sister nods and goes back to work. Cosima, sincerely apologetic, decides to be the first to apologize.

"Look, I'm-" she is cut off by Rachel summoning a knight.

"Please take the princess of Dorne to her prepared quarters and make sure she is taken care of," and without waiting for an answer, walks over to where her father is laid out.

"Yes, m'lady"

_Bitch. I'm trying to be nice here_. She thinks of how Lord Ethan would have reacted with kindness. _How are they even related?_ Cosima is fuming as she follows her guide. They step out into the hallways when she hears a gasp, then hurried footsteps coming towards her.

"Cosima?"

* * *

><p>AN: yeah,an AU with an AU in an AU, which is like, triple whammy. I'll try to stay as loyal and true to both series as humanly possible.<p>

Oh, Rachel's dress . hbogameofclothes. files. wordpress 2014/05/7dtobrq. jpg, (remove the spaces,FF is not link-friendly)coz my imagination is that strong and I just wanted to share visuals.

Unedited and unbetaed. apologies for any mistakes.


	3. Blue and Orange

"Cosima?"

She whirls to face the woman approaching, every step measured even if it was hurried, every movement no doubt perfected from growing up with a septa to dictate the proper way to act, a noblewoman in every sense.

"Alison." It wasn't hard to recognize the auburn hair, the blue grey dress and fitted dark blue top, a fish sigil visible below her neck. This reminds her first encounter and the proclivity for titles. "I mean, Lady Tully," she quickly amends, nodding slightly, receiving a nod in return when they are finally face to face.

They mutually stare, having not seen each other since they were children, noting the differences the years have managed to carve into the little girls they once were. A quirk on a lip, the other trying not to do the same, and then they are both laughing, breaking the formal air as they embrace, Alison's genuine happiness overriding her usual formal and dutiful demeanor.

"Oh you have no idea how good it is to finally see a familiar face that is happy to see me." Cosima gushes when they release each other. She gets a confused and questioning gaze in response.

"_Lady_ Rachel Lannister" she says with an eye roll.

"Come now, no need to be so harsh, she is grieving." A slight admonishment.

"Harsh? I'm the one who's harsh? The first thing she does is turn her uppity nose at me, all high and mighty. I told her she has an icicle stuck in her ass."

Her friend gasps in absolute horror. "Cosima Martell, you did not."

"Oh yeah, I absolutely did," she says with an impish smile, _you should see your face._

The knight, all but forgotten, intrudes with an ahem. Both ladies remember his presence and look at him.

"I'm supposed to take the princess to her quarters."

They both give him an "are you serious" glare.

"Tell me where it is, I can take her there myself, after we have exchanged pleasantries." Alison's clipped tone surprises the woman beside her.

The man in Lannister armor hesitates, scared of the consequences if he were to disobey his Lady. Alison sees this and softens her tone. "I can tell Lady Rachel later when we meet, I take full responsibility."He still hesitates for a moment, weighing his options, then bows, deciding he could trust her.

"As you wish, Lady Alison." He walks back to his post after pointing out said quarters.

"Wowwwww, Lady Alison, are you friends with Lady Rachel now? Her royal guards are familiar with you, they even let you 'take responsibility' of her commands" a tattooed shoulder nudges a clothed one in teasing.

"Oh, stop it. I've been staying in the capital for the past few weeks, conducting business and trade between the Riverlands and King's Landing, amending the original deals made by the Hand, making it better to suit the city's needs, and Lady Lannister IS the Master of Coin." Brown eyes go wide in astonishment."I must say, you arrived quite early. The announcement of the arrival of guests isn't in two more days, maybe three."

"My father put me on the fastest ship, and I'd rather not spend two weeks on bumpy roads. The sea takes about a week." Hands fly in gesture distractedly. " Wow, Lady Rachel sure has gone far."_ Although I shouldn't be surprised, based on my first meeting with her and how everybody acts around her._

"Yes. So we have been spending more time with each other. I was here when her father...she needed a friend." _That was the one and only time I saw that face show true emotion. _Alison thinks back on that day, She remembers the broken expression, looking quite lost. There was no resistance when she slowly approached and put her arms around the always-straightened shoulders, no pulling back when she carefully cradled the blonde head with one hand, feeling a chin laying down between her shoulder and neck. They just stood there in a one sided embrace, not knowing how long, until she feels the other woman slowly pulling, a stiff "I have to call the small council for a meeting" and walks away, never turning back, Alison all too aware of the dampness on the side of her neck. The next morning, Rachel was her usual cool and collected self, a new resolve in every action and order, and when their eyes met, it was as if nothing happened, a silent agreement to never speak of it again.

"Lady Highandmighty does not make friends."

"Well, Lady Rachel has always been...difficult to understand." _She's less harsh to me though. _She noticed a changed, a difference whenever they encountered each other, barely there, but there nonetheless, almost as if they were friends._ Or as close to having a friend for Rachel Lannister._

"Please, save it. And she's not the only one who's grieving." Cosima's voice turns somber. She feels a hand gently rubbing her arm.

"I'm sorry. I know he meant a lot to you."

"Not just to me. Seven hells, all of Westeros is probably grieving." She sees a slight flinch at her choice of expression.

"Enough about that, let me look at you properly." Alison slowly turns her around, gawking at the orange garment loosely clinging to her small frame, fingertips tracing the ink on her right shoulder, but the first thing she says is

"What is that on your face?"

Cosima groans. "Don't start. Iv'e already had an earful of criticism from Rachel, sorry, _Lady_ Lannister"

"And what did you do to your hair? It's quite unique." she scrutinizes the many strands of thinly and intricately braided dark hair.

The princess smiles and gives a little shake of her head, a rattling sound coming from some of the beads bumping into each other. "Yeah, I like it better this way. It's easier to move around and work when it's off my face. Plus, it's way warmer in Dorne."

"I suppose it helps with the temperature."

"And you, you still have your bangs"_which is actually why it was so easy to recognize you_.

"I grew my hair," Alison scoffs with affront, but they both know, she's always kept her bangs, with the longer parts of the auburn hair braided and tied at the back.

Dark eyes twinkle in teasing. "Yeah, I can see that."

The ink on her right deltoid is slowly traced by curious fingertips.

"Is that a...turtle? I thought you're a viper."

Hesitation. Not wanting to explain a turtle. A smile. She turns her back, smirking at the 'oh' from her friend, no doubt from seeing the tattoo on her left shoulder blade, a viper surrounding a sun done in hues of orange and red orange, with the words Unbowed Unbent Unbroken in black ink, stylized to look like a spear, running from top of her shoulder down to her lower back, piercing the sun and dissecting the left hemisphere of her back. Even the uptight, prim and proper redhead cannot deny its beauty.

"It looks so artfully and masterfully done." She breathes out, still staring at the image."It's very beautiful." Cosima smiles.

"And really, have you no other dresses?" The tone was condescending, eyes narrowing at how provocative the orange garment is, gold chains on her neck and hanging in front, doing nothing to hide the tanned olive skin, taut and flat stomach, the blending of red, orange, and black ink at her back, and sculpted arms, with leather bands wound and crossed on both elbows.

A shrug and a small smile. "Like I said, it's warmer in Dorne."

"You Dornish sure are more...loose...I mean, you do things with little disregard for conduct" she rushes in explanation by the arching of Cosima's brow.

"Not really, we're just more accepting in the South."

"Mmmm, well, you've grown quite beautiful yourself." A shy smile, and then it disappears at the next comment. "Although you haven't really grown much in the literal sense, you're a little short."

"Excuse me?" Cosima gasps in mock indignation, "speak for yourself, I'm still taller than you...by maybe half an inch, but I'm still taller." Her companion scowls at this truth.

"And again, speak for yourself, you're a classic Tully beauty. Slim frame, graceful body, auburn hair, fair skin...no more scrawny wild and free Alison. Man, I still remember that time you bit the butcher's son." She hears another gasp in the midst of her laughter.

"He was mean. He laughed at me when I said I will grow up to be a Lady."

"I don't blame him, what with your muddy face and your hair flying all over."

Pale cheeks turn crimson at the memory, something she'd rather forget. "I was a child. Those days are behind me now."

Cosima eyes her, deciding to let it go. _For now at least. _"Well, you proved him wrong. All the septas will probably mention you to all those young girls they're torturing on 'how to be a proper lady'"she tries to mimic the strict way of speaking the old women when imparting lessons. "Although I must say my chest is definitely bigger than yours." She laughs as she tries to dodge a hand swatting her arm. "I mean it though, you're beautiful too."

Alison finally decides to stop hitting her, a pleased smile on her lips.

From the corner of her eye, Cosima's gaze is suddenly drawn towards a tall hooded figure blending in the shadows, walking at a hurried pace, clearly not wanting to be noticed and is very good at it. She sees a brief flash of blonde underneath the dark hood as the person slips quickly and quietly inside the room she herself just came from.

"Oh look at us, we've been standing in one place, babbling, and we didn't even notice. Come, let's start walking." The high and bubbly voice pulls her from her thoughts.

"Who was that?" her thumb points to the room where Lord Ethan's body was being dressed.

Alison stops from the few steps she's taken. "Who was who?"

"Somebody went inside."

She glances to where Cosima was pointing, noting nothing of the ordinary to indicate that someone went inside."I didn't see anything."

_Odd. How come I noticed it?_

"You must be tired from your journey. Come on, I'll take you to your quarters."

She lets her friend pull at her arm, and she is forced to follow. It all happened so quickly that she herself began to doubt if it really happened._Yes, that must be it. I'm just tired. _But a part of her still isn't convinced, that flash of blonde imprinted in her mind's eye.

* * *

><p>Rachel slightly notices the dark figure in the shadows and orders all the workers out, glaring at the guards who hesitated but eventually scurried out, leaving herself alone with her father in the throne room. <em>Although I'm not really alone.<em>

"You can step out now," the crisp command echoes into the empty walls, her gaze fixed on where she knew the intruder was standing. For a moment, nothing happens, and then a cloaked person steps out into the light, heading straight for Lord Ethan's remains.

* * *

><p>AN: thank you for reading this asshole of a story that wouldn't let me rest until I wrote it. It's fun putting them in houses that match their personalities, although I'm still struggling with the others.<p>

Visuals! Use your amazing mind to imagine Cosima in this www. pinterest (dotcom)/pin /524387950335783309/ (remove spaces, put " Hotel Tango Tango Papa Sierra : / /" first, salute to those who get it, translate those in parentheses, same goes below, sorry, FF has its moments of douchebaggery). because, HELL YES

and Alison in this justorka . wordpress(dotcom slash) 2012/12/06/game-of-thrones/lady-catelyn-stark/


	4. Sin City

It's been four days since the Hand last draw breath, four days of constant meetings with the grand maester and Lord Felix with regards to the preservation of the body while they await this mysterious foreigner, four days and Rachel has yet to get a night of decent sleep nor shed a tear, _except that time with Lady Alison...no, that doesn't count. _She shakes her head, as if that would nullify the event, and also to force her thoughts back to the most recent issue that has fallen on her hands.

_I, Ethan Lannister, First of my name, Lord of Catserly Rock, Lord Paramount of the Wetserlands, Warden of the West, and Hand of the King, do hereby grant succession and inheritance to my only heir, Rachel Lannister, all titular lands I govern upon the hour of my death._

Neat and uniform handwriting, and beneath it, an undisputable signature.

Rachel rerolls the paper as she steps out into the terrace, her face expressionless, fingers idly playing with the broken wax seal of the Hand, eyes gazing at the moon. Two days prior, she decided to visit this very same room: the Tower of the Hand, in her father's study, looking for anything that might help shed light to her questions when she found the sealed scroll among other papers, tucked in the box compartment where he kept important papers and plans. It's only now that she decided to open it.

It shouldn't feel like it changes things, really, after all, it's only a formality, she's virtually been the one running Casterly Rock these past years(even for the three years she's been in the capital) while her father runs the kingdom, only going to him for the formal documents needing his signatures and when absolutely necessary.

_So why does it feel like it changes absolutely everything?_ The truth of the matter is, it does, in a sense, it changes everything, and she knows this, she just prefers not to think of it. The scroll of paper officially makes her the Warden of the West, solidifying the fact that the former Lord and Warden, her father, is well and truly dead.

The longer she gazes at the words and letters, the more she becomes detached. The sound of the door opening and closing causes her to raise a brow.

"I believe, Lord Felix, that you are clever enough to understand the meaning of the guards posted outside that door." she voices with annoyance, back still turned at the door. "I admire that you were able to get past them, you must have been very convincing, although I must say they will not commit the same mistake again." _Because they won't be there to commit it._

The responding silence amuses her, then becomes disconcerting when it stretches on. She whirls around, Lord Felix nowhere to be seen, a stranger in a cloak standing in the middle of the room instead. In a span of three seconds, three thoughts sprint through her mind. One, her logic smothers her initial reaction to shout, _if this person wants me dead, they would have done so moments ago. _Two, _how did he get in. _Lastly, _if he's not here to kill me, why is he here_. She picks the simplest one to ask.

"How did-" she is cut short when the stranger raises a hand, holding out a small piece of paper, the other hand yanking the hood, revealing a pale face. _A woman!_

"Take me to him." It is the accent, not the fact that she's practically been ordered, that grabs Rachel's attention.

...

Three days ago.

_Delphine is in a half darkened corner, bandaging a prostitute's leg, the result of one of the clients having one drink too many and having lost his temper, beat her, breaking a leg. Perhaps the only good thing that came out of it is that all expenses are covered, Lys having the most expensive pleasurehouses, their employees prized and when 'damaged', paid thrice the price. She has taken the task of being the informal healer, first setting out in small cases, and then more and more requested for her, her methods by far much preferred by the girls who get unlucky with a costumer, and on occasion when her reputation grew, the nobles she agreed to treat in secrecy. She always chose carefully, usually treating the children and not the nobles themselves, not wanting to be cast in the limelight even if she always shielded her identity. She had one rule: keep quiet, or I will not come to you. _

_Of course, her potions are gaining notoriety, not only for health purposes, but also for other more pleasurable purposes, various whorehouse owners seeking out the mysterious person giving the aphrodisiac potions to her patients. It wasn't her intention at first, she just gave some to the courtesans who were singlehandedly raising their children, to help them gain extra income in the one thing they had to do, they knew how to do, to keep food in the little one's bellies. It was inevitable that words spread out, especially in Lys._

_Because of this, she always wore a dark and nondescript cloak when helping people, hiding her face, content with being a stranger who helps the injured. The only ones who do know are her early patients, whose silence she bought with potions, though some of them kept quiet out of gratitude, owing their life to her. __**Who knew there were still decent people in this city of sin **__she muses wryly._

_There is a tap on her shoulder and she turns to see one of the street children holding out a small roll of paper. "The Fairy sends his greetings." and then just as quickly as he came, he is gone. She sighs, looking down at the piece of paper, __**So much for that glowing thought. I guess gold always trumps decency. **__Her brain suddenly catches up. **Wait, The Fairy? It means this came from the Capital**. She breaks the wax seal and slowly unfurls it, almost apprehensive of what's written inside, and when she reads the short message, she realizes she is right to be._

_**I have to go. Now.**_

_She has mostly been keeping her head down when she started tending the leg, but the contents of the paper alarmed her, making her forget, and she straightens her head up, a contemplative look on her face. Unbeknownst to her, the freshly bandaged woman was intently looking at her, now that most of her face is visible beneath the hood. A sharp gasp quickly pulls the blonde's attention, realizing her slip up when she sees her patient open mouthedly gaping at her, recognition in her eyes, no doubt having heard the rumors herself._

_She mentally kicks herself, and quickly thinking on rectifying her mistake, she softly grabs the other woman's hands, gazing intently into her eyes. _

_"__**You...you are..." **__the prostitute was stuttering in shock and elation._

_"__**I am a stranger. Just someone passing through, you understand?'. **__she replies in Low Valyrian. A nod. __**"Your leg will heal, but you'll have to be immobile for a while. I wouldn't ask for anything, but-" **__she stops talking when she feels her hands being squeezed softly, the eyes in front of her shimmering, joy and gratitude swimming with the tears._

_**"No. No need. You have my silence. I have heard. You never ask for anything. You save people like me. And we will protect you like one of our own.**__" she reaches out, carefully tugging the hood to cover the face and blonde curls of her healer. _

_Delphine smiles in relief. "__**Here, take this potion three times in a day to help with the pain" **__she discreetly passes it with her palms between bruised hands. Her patient nods, looking down when she feels something, eyes widening when she finds a smaller vial underneath the one for pain. She looks up, too emotional to speak. A wink, a smile, and the cloaked woman turns, quickly exiting the establishment, blending with the shadows. _

_Now that she's done with that, The Fairy's message comes back full force, occupying her thoughts. _

_**"Tears flow from the lion's eyes." **__the scribbled letters were tugging forcefully on all the strings in her mind. __**If they suspect Ethan has been poisoned with the tears, they must want me to confirm**__, she concludes, for once grateful that well kept information about her skills somehow ended up in the Capital. She packs hurriedly, taking essential ingredients with her before heading towards the docks, the shadier close-to-a-hundred-percent-mortality-rate parts, that is. __**Smugglers and pirates always have the fastest ships. **__So far, she had no trouble going unnoticed, but now she had to make her presence known to the captain. His eyes grow predatory when he realizes it is a woman, judging by the slim frame, standing before him._

_**"Come now, show me what you're hiding in that coat of yours. Bet you're even prettier with it off."**_

_All the leering vanishes, however, when an iron coin is held up right in front of his face, the words Valar Morghulis and Valar Dohaeris etched on one side, The Stranger on the other. He nods, rigid and serious, as he leads the way towards the best quarter his ship can provide, anxiously checking if someone else observed the exchange._

_As if sensing this, a voice behind him answers his silent inquest."__**No, I am hidden. We are hidden." **__Somehow, this only makes him more nervous than before._

_By the time she is at sea, her thoughts have settled enough for her to sort and compartmentalize them__**. So, it begins**__, she thinks with sad acceptance, but also with determination paired with worry,her eyes trained towards the horizon where she knows King's Landing would be. As Lys gets smaller, the apprehension in her belly grows heavier , every mile crossed feeling like sand slowly filling her chest. She has, however, one certain thought amidst all the uncertainty that seems to be more capable of drowning her than the waters beneath her feet._

_**I finally get to see you. **_

_Three days later, they reach one of the smuggler's hidden docks in King's Landing, and the captain wastes no time in helping her, glad and relieved to get her off his ship because he knows that even though his ship was one of the fastest, the trip should have taken more than a week. _

_Delphine can feel the exhaustion creeping in both her mind and body, but she starts off at once, heading towards the Red Keep._

...

Yup, Felix "The Fairy".Sorrynotsorry, just couldn't help myself. I didn't want to use the Spider, because I fucking hate spiders down to the ninth circle of hell. And cmon, it's SO him. Fairy, hah.

apologies if jumping back and forth through time is confusing. Just to clear things, Cosima arrives in King's Landing a week and four days after Ethan's death. The first scene in this chapter is four days post death.


	5. Dungeons and Dragon scales

Disclaimer: I dont own Orphan Black, or GOT for that matter. wish I did though, just to satisfy the murdered feels that I can never get over with

* * *

><p>They are descending the stairs towards the dungeons, one of the guards outside the room they came out of holding a small torch, discreet enough not to draw attention but bright enough to illuminate their path. Rachel grits her teeth in displeasure, trying not to give in to the impulse of letting her sharp tongue do its usual job, recalling their conversation in her father's study to reinforce her effort of stilling her tongue.<p>

_"Take me to him." _

_The accent grabs her attention, foreign and definitely not from Westeros. Things come together in her mind, clicking into place at an escalating pace. The small piece of paper, the blonde hair and fair skin denoting Lysene origins, __**I wasn't expecting her to be this early**__. The concern on how she got into the Tower of the Hand and inside the room came rushing back, and Rachel, because she's Rachel, decides to demand some answers, so she asks again._

_"How did-"_

_"That doesn't matter. You need to take me to him. Now." For the second time, she is rudely interrupted, something she knows to simply not happen, not to her anyway. Rachel considers various forms of punishment for such audacity._

_"The evidence dwindles as time passes." _

_This immediately pushes her ire in the background, readjusting her current priorities, the sense of urgency that has been emanating from the intruder since the beginning finally catching up to her. She takes a fortifying breath. __**If you weren't important...**_

_"Very well, follow me."_

_When she opens the door, she is surprised that the two men in armor standing guard outside the door turn to face her. In truth, she was expecting them to be unconscious or dead. _

_"One of you gets to live" she orders, and then a gesture to follow to the one who was fast enough to understand the implication of the words and quickly slit the throat of his poor fellow guard, coldly disposing of the body as if it was mere garbage._

They reach their destination, far underground in a room adjacent to the dungeons, deeper than the Black cell, and at the same depth as the fourth level, their breaths misting from the extreme drop in temperature, waiting for the guard to open the rectangular case.

Delphine studies her environment. "I didn't know you had a place like this. Cold and dry."_They even managed to airlock the container. Remarkable ._"Perfect for keeping the process of decay from starting. I'm impressed."

"It was"_the grand maester's idea..._"someone clever's idea."she rectifies, not wanting to admit any sense of debt or thanks towards him_._Despite the dislike Rachel has for the man, she cannot deny his intelligence. _And apparently, so can you_ she assumes correctly when her companion looks at her with a questioning and almost expectant look.

"Perhaps you can introduce me to...this clever person some time."

"Perhaps you can get back to your task instead. And I'll be impressed if you are what they say you are. " A snap, as sharp as the edges of her seemingly immovable hair. She gestures towards the now opened cask. Tired eyes look down briefly in apology, the momentary excitement in them being replaced by the gravity of their current situation, before equally tired feet approach the remains of the Lord Hand, his daughter having decided to hang back at a distance, not yet ready to see him in his exanimate form but not willing to admit it either, even to herself. Oh the joy of self denial.

"Can you do it?"she mentally cringes at the teeny tiny scrap of hope that managed to lodge itself in her tone.

"Hmmn" she gets a small hum in response, and it takes every bit of her understanding and logical mind(_do not disturb her, let her concentrate on her job_) to stop her fuming and impatient side('_Hmmn?Hmmn!?' That does not answer my damn question even just a little bit._)

"Well, it has been four days..." Delphine murmurs softly, carefully examining the body.

_That's not an answer either._ This time, a tongue bite was necessary, and Rachel decides to use the silence to simmer down and allow full concentration for the other who was focused on assessing the veins.

The light from the flame casts shadows around them, and she takes her time to truly observe the foreigner who was bent over the body, taking out various equipment from the leather satchel hidden by her cloak. She observes the dark circles underneath the Lysene's face, her expression almost tired and drawn(although it does nothing to mar her beauty), _as though she hasn't been sleeping as well. _She draws comfort from this. _At least that makes two of us._

She shivers and crosses her arms, annoyance rekindling, eyeing the taller blonde's cloak; her dress, immaculate and flawlessly red it may be, was simply not enough to protect her from the cold.

"Yes, I will be able to verify the presence of poison." The cold suddenly lost its sting, the word 'yes' causing relief to wash over, slowly warming her, but it is the sense of vengeance following suit, burning inside with ferocious intensity, that suddenly makes her immune to the cold.

"Although it might take some time, given that it's been four days." a delicate hand holding up a vial of blood, eyes scrutinizing it against the light.

"When can you confirm the result?"

"I can't say yet."

"And how soon can the body be prepared and dressed?"

Delphine does a mental calculation. "Ten days perhaps."

"Seven. Make it seven. People from all over the kingdoms will be arriving in a week, and will wonder about the absence of a body."

Blonde curls shift as a head cocks in rumination. "Then I'll have to go to the body, should I need anything else."

"Just make sure you are unnoticed."

A ghost of a smile. "That won't be a problem." and suddenly, Rachel remembers the sound of a door opening and closing, the two guards still standing at the other side. _Yes, that won't be a problem after all, _although she makes a mental note to find out how it was possible for this foreigner to get in without being detected.

"No one must know of this." The silent _or else you will suffer in the most painful way possible_ is very audible, echoing from the cold walls.

"Of course."

"And so is your presence, at least not yet. You will be presented along with the dignitaries."

"As you wish."

"You can use my fa..the Tower of the Hand for the time being, I trust you can find your way back. It is unused until a new Hand is assigned, and nobody dares enter out of respect for the former Hand. That should give you enough time until your moment of display"

_I've always been for display_, the cloaked woman mentally drolls. "Pardon, but there are some things I may require. I left in a hurry and only brought what I thought is necessary."

Rachel eyes the leather gear, the only thing that seemed to have been brought along. "All equipment and components you need, you come to me, it shall be provided. You can also use the alchemy tower or the Grand Maester's own testing room."

A nod of affirmation, and she calls on the guard to reseal the body.

They begin the trek up the stairs, passing one level, two, and still further is not until they reach the end of being underground that both women can finally breath, their thoughts catching up to them as they part ways, the guard accompanying his Lady to her quarters, the tension from the previous hours slowly dissipating.

_"Good, now that that is established and a definitive answer to come, I can finally move on to other matters."_

_"Mon Dieu, thank the stars somebody had the presence of mind to preserve the body or else I wouldn't be able to collect any evidence."_

When Rachel reaches her door, she turns to give one last command.

"Call for Ser Paul of the Kingsguard."

"As you wish, My Lady."

She begins unlacing her dress the moment she steps inside, and she is wearing nothing underneath her bedgown when she hears a knock.

In strides Paul in his golden armor and white cape, catching the brief flicker of her eyes towards the guard who was turning to close the door. A silent command, one he acts on immediately, whirling around to clamp his hand on a mouth. There is a soft snick, the room beginning to smell of iron and salt.

"Remove your armor."

She wastes no time in pulling him down, violently crashing their lips together, the scent of blood fueling her.

"What'd this one do?" He manages to grunt out between rough kisses.

"He saw" _her _"something he wasn't supposed to see." The knight stops momentarily, curiously gazing at her.

"You are here to satisfy me, not to ask questions." Snip snap metaphorical slap, the cold bitch is back, the small sense of victory and satisfaction from tonight's events giving her a small high.

_Besides, I need to be exhausted if I'm to sleep._ And what better way to exhaust herself than the raw power play she enjoys during sex? A ripping sound, savage grunts, a final twitch and spurt of blood from the body on the floor, and hours later, Rachel Lannister finally sleeps.

From a room high up in the Tower, a tall pale blonde is leaning over the balcony, giving up on sleep when she lurched awake from a dream just moments ago. She sighs, tired but feeling the stirrings of excitement in her chest. Delphine accepts that, once again, there will be no sleep for her tonight, except this time, she doesn't mind.

_The dreams will not compare when I finally see you._

In the morning, Lord Commander Gavin notes how drained and exhausted one of his Kingsguard is. "You look like you wrestled a boar, Ser Paul."

_More like a lion, _the he mentally comments, still feeling the raw scratches underneath his armor.

* * *

><p>There was a vague prickling feeling at the back of her neck as she slipped through the door and closed it behind her. It felt like there was an invisible hook tugging from the other side, compelling her to look back. And then it was gone just as quickly as it crashed into her. <em>What was that? <em>She had half a mind to satisfy her curiosity but a voice sounds out, her momentary distraction forgotten, reminding her purpose for going there in the first place.

"You can step out now," the crisp command echoes into the empty walls, her gaze fixed on where she knew the intruder was standing.

Delphine steps into the light, briskly walking towards the body laid out in the finest red and gold cloth, the only remaining occupant in the room instantly carping at her.

"Did anybody see you?"

"No." She doesn't bother looking anywhere else, concentrating as she extracts fluid from the eye, thankful that Rachel's I-can't-look-at-him-yet form of denial hidden obstinately behind a facade of nonchalance is keeping her away from the body and seeing what was happening. Delphine was positive that if the already-fuming blonde saw her poking and prodding his eye(after she asked permission to get pieces of his organs just days ago), she would probably have her skinned millimeter by millimeter.

"Are you _sure_?" A hissing sound.

"Yes, my Lady. Quite sure." _Although..._ her mind goes back to that brief tugging sensation.

"You're lucky that I noticed you and ordered everyone out."

_You didn't notice me. I let you notice me so you can order everyone out._

"Nobody except you and me is aware that you've already been here for a week."

"And it will stay that way." After inconspicuously closing the eyelid and returning the flat stone on top, she straightens to her taller height, and approaches Rachel.

"How many more days? Before you can be sure?"

She considers her answer."Weeks." she says softly, truthfully, noticing a slight sliver of frustration slip through the ice mask. "Four, at the least."

Rahcel says nothing, except for what might have been a resigned sigh, which the potioner takes as her cue to leave. She has already taken a few steps when a "However..." stops her in her tracks.

"Maybe it's time I introduce you to the grand maester, after all, he is aware of your skills and of what you will supposedly be doing, your purpose for coming here. You could use the _help._' Delphine prides herself for not visibly reacting to the implication that she's not doing well in what she knows only she could do.

She goes for diplomacy. "Yes, maybe that will speed things up, I could use some assistance, both in hands and equipment, but there are certain concoctions and ingredients that only I know how to handle."

"Fine. You can go", Rachel dismisses as if they were talking about the weather and not stacking more bricks to a burgeoning labyrinth.

* * *

><p>The next day, Delphine was in the grand maester's stock room, scanning the shelves of herbs, various body parts from various animals and whatnot. She reaches a finger to tap a glass jar containing what she's sure are preserved dragon scales. <em>Even most of the rare and hard to find ingredients are here. Incredible. <em>She snaps her hand back when she hears someone open the door.

She puts on a smile, the clinking of chains getting closer, and she turns to face a tall balding man decked in black robes. A vague feeling of familiarity creeps into her brain.

"Grand maester?" she says, hoping he didn't notice the slight falter in her smile, trying to identify what it is that's setting her off.

"Kessa."_Yes_, his eyes going wide for a moment when he looks at her.

"You speak Valyrian." It was more of an observation than a question.

"Not that fluent, I'm afraid." His eyes linger at her face, slowly travelling down her body.

She tries not to let the discomfort show and instead looks at the peach fuzz, the lined face, the stiff way his mouth moves whenever he speaks, and suddenly, the vagueness melts.

_I know this man!_

* * *

><p>AN: I'm a fish, I'm a lover, "Family, duty, and honor", I'm a Tully, I'm a saint, I wear blue everyday, Iliveinwesterosbecausewhythefucknot and this song doesnt make sense anymore. I miss Alison. and I can hear my brain laughing .<p>

thanks for the reviews, and reading, of course.


	6. Grumpkins and Snarks

"Delphine of Lys. My, you surely exceed the stories." His eyes were doing another once over of her.

"Oh, where are my manners. Grand Maester Aldous." he presents with a practiced charisma, overflowing with courtesy and kind smiles. It puts her a little bit at ease.

_That name..._A connection. A faded remembrance of something, from another reality. She cannot quite connect the dots, but she knows that he is someone who pushed boundaries when it comes to pursuing his quests, _and that we share some kind of relationship...non, affiliation._

"Lady Rachel has informed me that I might find you here. It's a pleasure to meet someone with your expertise on the subject."

_I didn't know he was the grand maester here...although I suppose that makes sense._

"So" he begins enthusiastically, " I believe you will be working with me to uncover this little mystery."

"Yes," she recovers herself. "I am very impressed with your...collection." her hand sweeps over the rows of exotic ingredients. "I have never seen this much in one place."_How on earth did he amass all of these? _ He smiles proudly, and as if reading her silent question,

"Well, being a grand maester has its perks." She watches and listens as he goes on identifying them, taken in by the way he speaks and his vast knowledge , and she can't help feeling as if she's been in the same situation before.

"Only a select few know of this room, which is why I'm surprised that I found you here." For the first time, there was uncertainty and slight suspicion in his voice., because only he could open the door.

"Oh, it was open. " she flashes her most charming smile, the one she knows will never fail her even if she was reanimated from the dead.

It works, and he lets it go, taking her elbow and guides her back to the other room where the rows of common and safe ingredients were.

"Come, why don't I show you the room where the making and testing is done." They enter another door, connected to the stock room.

Delphine smiles, trying her best to look like it's her first time being there, _I've been using this place in the dead of the night whenever crucial. _Though she has to admit that if it _was_ her first time, she'd be engrossed by the best testing and potions room she has ever seen and by the way he exhibited the equipment.

"Naturally, this little project of ours is to be kept quiet. News of the Hand being murdered could cause unimaginable circumstances, so you understand the necessity of a little hush up."

_If your definition of 'a little' means casually disposing of lives , then by all means, 'a little' it is then._ She can still feel guilt for the unfortunate soldiers who payed for their lives just because they saw her.

"You will be introduced as you are, Delphine of Lys, but under the guise that you are here to help develop and expand the knowledge on potions. Even I have to admit that the Citadel is nothing compared to the potion masters from the east. You have been very hard to track down, and nobody has ever put a face to the name, so I know this will change things for you, if you're alright with it."

_Is it worth it?_

She thinks back on the dreams that she's been having ever since she could remember, and in that same second, she knows her answer. _Yes, absolutely yes._ Even if she knew it meant her thoroughness to keep her identity a secret would fizzle to nothing and her privacy next to nothing. _If it meant a step closer to seeing you..._ she feels anxiety and impatience heaving in her lungs as her thoughts drift. The sight of Aldous waiting for a response pulls her back.

She nods, solidifying her decision. " I suppose this is more important than my personal concerns."

_Besides, it's not like I really have a choice._

"Excellent." The grand maester is smiling too contentedly for her liking, and he excuses himself, plucking a potion from one of the shelves. "Now, pardon me, but unfortunately, I have to go back to the council meeting. "

* * *

><p>"Your Grace, have you decided who the next Hand of the King will be?" the dreaded and long awaited council meeting with the King was in full swing.<p>

Donald Baratheon's head wasn't functioning well that moment, the ale from yesternight still stewing inside his skull. Rachel eyes him with disdain. _The Protector of the Realm finally appears for the small council, and he comes with a bloody hangover._

On second thought, she decides to be thankful of the hangover, because he wouldn't stop complaining of the dizziness and headache, and she took the opportunity to stare straight into Aldous' eyes ("perhaps the Grand Maester can visit his stock room and come up with a remedy, Your Grace", a slight narrowing of his eyes the only sign that it wasn't simply an act of consideration), creating the moment for him to meet the potioner without alerting suspicion from "the little fairies" and having them report to their master who fortunately did not catch the covert exchange.

The door swings open, and they all turn to see Aldous approach.

"I trust you were able to find what you were looking for." Rachel's voice was very casual, her eyes not even looking at him. What she really meant was _Did you find her there._

"Of course. I wouldn't have come back if I didn't." _All matters are taken care of. _He sets a small flask near the king who immediately reaches for it and guzzles it down with a sigh.

_Good. _"Let's get back to business then."

"So, the new Hand..." Lord Felix reintroduces the unavoidable question.

The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms finally straightens in his seat,resting his chin on both knuckles, the potion pulling him back to sobriety enough to think about it clearly.

There was a sadness in his voice when he spoke.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I never imagined anyone else except Lord Ethan being the Hand." Amidst all the whoring, drinking, and lack of sense when it comes to running the kingdom, the one other thing they all agree on is that he has a heart, and that he too looked up to the former Hand.

"We all do, your Grace."

"Well, who do you recommend?" A pregnant silence ensues, the question more of a trick question than a real question, because even the King's recovering brain knows that no one can fill in the shoes of Lord Ethan.

After a while, he sighs, "Lady Rachel..." his eyes landed on her, staying there.

She gives him her full attention. "Your Grace."

She waits for his next words, her face an expressionless mask as he continues staring at her, giving way for just a fraction as understanding finally dawns. It takes a moment for the whole room to catch up and realize that he wasn't calling her attention, but identifying her.

Elation, pride, and pure pleasure on being chosen floods her, and though her face is unchanged, her heart is pumping with a sense of righteousness. To Rachel, it was the most sensible decision he has ever made so far, and it frankly surprised her.

_It seems he's not completely useless after all, a part of his head must have evaded the general idiocy that exists there._ It made her take one mental step back on the way she imagines torturing him: from breaking every bone to a less severe(for her at least) dislocation of every joint of his body instead.

There was no word of protest. Everybody knew she was capable, if not the only one capable enough, to take on the duties of being the Hand. But not everybody in the kingdom would agree.

Lord Felix decides to verbalize what was sitting on the back of everybody's mind.

"A wise decision, your Grace" _And I do hate to admit, the only acceptable decision_, " but it will surely cause a reaction, especially from the Lords who are less...compliant with a woman being chosen."

King Donnie runs his palms through his face, his earlier and darker mood starting to return. "I know that, but there is no one else I could think of. She has proven herself as Master of Coin."

"And the City's coffers have flowed like never before" she interjects, deliberately glaring at Felix.

"If they have a problem, they can address it directly to me...just like the last time, if you remember. A Lannister always pays her debts." Her voice drops on the last words, tainted with warning and challenge. Of course they remember, it would be impossible to forget when it cemented her credibility to be a part of the Small Council, and that this particular Lannister pays her debts a hundredfold.

"Yes. There. See? Case closed."

Felix inclines his head in acquiescence, albeit reluctantly.

"Finally. " A weight seems to physically come off the royal shoulders. "This damned thing is over." He mutters.

Lord Commander Gavin decides to air out his issue.

"Your grace, there is one more thing-"

"Seven hells, what is it now." Donnie has had enough of politics, his headache returning from eventually having to stand behind his decision against the unavoidable criticism for choosing a female Hand.

"The replacement for Ser Mandon of the Kingsguard."

"What, did he die too?"

"No your Grace, he was.. " hesitation. The Lord commander chose his words carefully"he is currently defective...permanently defective."

The king glares at him in impatience, waiting for an explanation.

"He lost everything below his right elbow during a fight."

"I wasn't aware that there was a fight requiring the Kingsguard."

"It was a duel, your Grace."

He scoffed."Nobody with a sane mind would challenge a kingsguard in a duel."

Usually, the kingsguard take pride in their armor, because it identifies them as the pinnacle of knighthood in all the seven kingdoms, even more so for the lord commander, but currently, he just wanted to tear the white cloak and armor off in shame. There was an awkward silence, the picture becoming clear.

"Wait, are you telling me that Ser Mandon challenged someone in a duel and lost not only his dignity as kingsguard but also his swordhand?" The way the commander's head hung was answer enough.

"Hah! Get the knight who did it , he seems to be more deserving of being in the Kingsguard."

"Pardon me, my king, but it's not a knight, and-"

"Then I will anoint him a knight myself, problem solved."

"Your grace..."

"Enough! This is making my head ache. I am the King, I appoint the people I want, Lady Lannister will be Hand, and whoever it is that booted Ser Mandon's ass will replace him in the Kingsguard, and that is final!"

Gavin nods in defeat, but also secretly thinks that it made sense and maybe it was, next to choosing who the next Hand would be, the best idea the king has ever had.

* * *

><p>Cosima bumps into someone as she rounds off a corner from one of the general library's shelves, sending her spectacles clattering to the floor, followed by the books that jumped out of her hands.<p>

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She can hear a male voice, her eyes squinting at a blurry black figure slowly coming into focus.

The man in black robes, dazed himself, awkwardly helps her up. When he takes a good look at her, he backtracks at once. "Cosi-Princess Cosima! I-forgive me, I wasn't looking where I was going." A stream of more stuttered apologies reach her ears and she waves her hand to say it's allright.

"Yeah, just, just hand me my-"

"Oh. Here."

"..thanks."She settles the spectacles on her nose, his face coming into view, his very nervous face, his very nervous familiar face.

She checks out the mop of brown hair, the clumsy way he holds himself as he shuffles from foot to foot, eyes downcast.

"Scott? Scott Tarly?"

He chances a glance at her, still a bundle of nerves. "Princess Cosima, I'm so sorry. It was my fault." A pair of arms around his shoulders surprises him, stopping the bumble of apologies from his mouth.

"Wow, you grew, and you're taller than me now!" He looked unsure of how to react with the situation, and she placates him with a smile.

"It's Cosima, Scott, it's still me."

"But, princess, I must-"

"Come on Tarly. Not you too. I'm Cosima first, and forced royalty second, alright?" She hated it, this is why it was difficult for her to make friends in the title conscious Capital, the only socially accepted friends she had being fellow highborn. _Make that one socially accepted friend, _she thinks sardonically, Allison being that person.

"But-" she glares at him. He clears his throat.

"Co-Cosima" he tries, the concept very foreign to him, and she knows, so she smiles encouragingly.

"See? Wasn't so hard. Much better, in my opinion."

He shrugs in a way that says _I'm not so sure but I'll humor you_. "I'm still very much new here, so my sense of direction is a bit non existent at the moment." he bends to pick up both of their books scattered on the floor.

"Arrived just a few days ago myself and I'm still adjusting." They make their way out of the library. "So, Scott Tarly, looking good in those black robes."

"Oh, it's just Scott now."

"The Order of Maesters?"

"Yeah, my father wanted me to be a knight, but, you probably know how that went," he looks down, both of them remembering their seven year old selves, him crying with his ass on the ground, and Cosima standing defiantly in front of Chad, a newly assigned page to one of the knights. Back then, she was just Cosima, the brave Dornish girl (much to his embarassment) who chased Chad away and later hid all his clothes when he was bathing in the river, naked and humiliated in front of the family he was serving as a page for, but now, she was a full fledged princess and the heir of Dorne.

"You are far more suited to study and explore things that really matter rather than join the brainless idiots who keep comparing whose sword is bigger and whose lance is longer." Scott looks at her, smiling and happy that someone else thinks so.

"Maester in training, huh?" she pinches his sleeve and makes him turn.

"Actually, it's Maester Scott. Fresh from the Citadel. The Grand Maester personally approved and requested for me here, something about a new endeavor and needing a selected roster. So I'm no longer an initiate." he beams proudly. "Although it doesn't really feel like it seeing as I'm still too young and green" his enthusiasm deflates.

Cosima tries to uplift his mood. "Well, look at you, Scott-no-longer-an-initiate." she playfully ribs him, inspecting the still few chains he wore.

"Oooh, this one's freshly forged, " he holds up a silver chain, "it's for medicine and healing. This one, also freshly forged, is for herb lore." He points out other chains, black for ravenry, another for history and heraldry, blabbing on while they approach one of the stone benches near the vicinity of the godswood, his manner finally relaxing, blurring the line of titles between them and redefining their past friendship.

He examines the books Cosima chose, two books about wine and wine making.

"Wine?" he holds a book up in question.

"Mhmm. Vintner extraordinaire, thank you very much." His face slackens, his mind catching on.

"By the gods, you're the one behind the new stock and variety of Dornish wine that everybody's talking about!"

She grins, giving a fancy bow. "Indeed I am, but the materials in the library are almost obsolete, the books on wine and ale are mostly common knowledge, and there's not many of them" she complains, her hands flailing around to make a point. "Well, there's two, those two, and I probably know most of what's written there, but I'm hoping there's something in them. I'm still exploring but I bet I could write an entire shelf about the subject, if all goes well."

"Maybe you should." he says in earnest, then scrunches his brows at the last two books at the bottom, then laughs a little. "Grumpkins and Snarks? Children's folktales? Really?"

Cosima snatches them from his hands, trying to hide her embarrassment, but then she sighs. "Allright, fine. I've been having these...dreams."

_The ground painted white. The sky with a streak of red. The sun never rising from the horizon. A face weeping. Flashes of scenes. A dark figure always on the edge of her vision. Blue eyes staring at her. And she jerks awake, shivering, her body gone cold like she was laying on snow even though King's Landing had a warm climate._

"I'm trying to figure them out,"_I can't ignore them any longer, it's becoming too much_ "but the library doesn't have anything on the...topic."

"The topic being grumpkins and snarks?"

"No. No, more like... weirwoods, dragons, white walkers, magic...that kind of stuff."

He was looking at her intently, his next words very deliberate. "You mean the higher mysteries?"

"Yes, but apparently, the closest reference that I can find are these children's books." she sighs, dropping them a little too harshly, her annoyance showing.

"You know, " his eyes gaze at the distance, contemplating something "I might be able to help with that."

Cosima's braids whip around as her head snaps to look at him, seeing a small smile on his lips.

"The grand maester has a more extensive and informative library, and I'm Scott-no-longer-an-initiate, remember?"

* * *

><p>As they exit the chambers, Felix falls into step with the soon-to-be Lady Hand. She barely glances at him nor slows down in her steps.<p>

"Your further protests will do no good, Lord Felix."

"Oh, I'm not here to protest. In fact, I'm here to congratulate you."

They stop to stand side by side at a platform overlooking the outer yard, both seemingly looking offhandedly mellow , a skill they both excelled at.

"You have a strange way of congratulating."

"Believe me, I have absolutely no problem with you being the Hand." _Except for the fact that your insides have a darker shade and the vicious evil streak in your cold cold heart._" But we both know there would be protests from the close minded pigheads who call themselves Lords." Inner Rachel nods, outer Rachel keeps staring at the gardens below as if she didn't hear him.

"Let them. I will...convince them otherwise."

"If only you were born a man, this matter of contention would not exist" he sighs dramatically while a half sneer half smile appears on her lips.

"Then you are a foolish Fairy if you think I need a cock between my legs to run the realms." she retorts, her hem swirling as she strides off to handle upcoming events.

_Yes, and that is exactly what makes you dangerous. You don't need a cock and yet you can still fuck the kingdom however way you like it._

He watches until she is a red figure in the distance, hoping that there is more of Ethan Lannister in her than she normally shows.

* * *

><p>The first thing Delphine does when she reaches the Hand's quarters which she'd been using is to open her leather journal, flipping the pages until she finds the one with 'Aldous' written on it.<p>

* * *

><p>AN<p>

With the Sarah as Beth/Katja/Cosima/Alison/Rachel, Alison as Sarah, Helena as Sarah as Beth/Sarah, and Rachel as Sarah clone swaps, I'm still waiting for the Helena as Rachel/Alison. That would be gold


	7. Indelible and Bleeding

AN: I have a confession: I am a recent member of Clone Club, and by recent I mean I just finished Season two last week. *digs a hole and burrows to hide embarassment.

Also, Delphine centric chapter.

...

The leather journal sits on her lap, her fingers slowly tracing the ink.

On the top part of the page, is a word: _**Aldous**__, _and below it are broken phrases.

_**Dr. Aldous Leekie**_

_**DYAD Institute director**_

_**invitation to work there **_and beside it, an arrow pointing to _**immunology related?**_, a sidenote, something that hasn't been confirmed arrow points to _**I work with/for(?) him.**_

_**famous and limit pusher**_

_**Neolutionist and scientist**_

_**seems to possess exceptional intelligence**_

She sighs, the page mostly blank except for those few short words. So far, this is the extent of what she has on Grand Maester Aldous, the extent of what she's seen.

The dreams, the images, the visions, everything she can see with her closed eyes have always been there ever since Delphine can remember, always been a part of her. At first it was just simple scenes, weaving in and out of each other, like in a normal dream. A tower of metal reaching the sky, something called Eiffel, a strange place where she and children her age were gathered in a room to learn,_such a strange concept_, in a language she has never heard of but she can somehow understand.

They were just dreams, surely, because they didn't make sense, and were above the realms of possibility from this world. As she grew, they became more and more consistent that sometimes, she feels like it's a whole new world.

There were general things, like the dark bitter brew she considered her best friend, the sweet treat she grew partial to(_truffles, I think they were called_), numerous blood samples she extracted from people, studying them, excelling in it, words like hosts, test tubes, parasites, lymph nodes, antigens etc slowly floating away when she wakes up.

There were, however, the ones she remember with vivid clarity, unnerving her and throwing her sense of self and time.

A colorful laptop skin with a DNA strand. 324B21. Dark framed glasses. Dreadlocks. A toothy smile. Eyes with a mischievous glint. Coughing up blood. It's usually this point that she lurches from her sleep, throat raw from the last traces of a scream petering out, fear and pain ricocheting in her chest, her breaths ragged and uneven, her face damp from sweat and tears she wasn't aware were flowing, her current reality ripped from her, reliving something impossible but, she knows, just knows in her gut, is real.

It's at this point, seven years ago, that she accepts: they were far too real to be dreams. _They are memories._ The realization crashes into her at breakneck speed,colliding with every molecule of her body, propelling her to scramble out of bed, tossing things in a frenzy, desperately looking for anything to write on.

And ever since, this is what she does, every morning after a memory trip, jotting things down, every minuscule part, before it gets hard to remember, the images flowing out of the tip of her quill, scritching and scratching the way they scratched the insides of her mind.

Page by page, she reconstructs the pieces that she has into a story. Hers?Another woman's? Both? She records the ones she knows is about her, even a name, her name: _**Cormier, **__Delphine Cormier, Doctor Delphine Cormier _and below her name, scribbles born from recalling, with difficulty, the early dreams she had.

_**Paris. Vacations with maman et papa. **_

_**School.**_

_**Trips to the Louvre. Seine River. Musee d'Orsay. La tavern Anglaise.**_

_**7763, bd Haussmann 753 Paris Codex 11**_

_**Being ostracized due to my love of science. **_

The recent ones that followed were easier for her to refresh and learn from

_**Coffee and truffles. College. Cigarettes.**_

_**A course called immunology. Molecular biology.**_

_**Graduating with highest honors.**_

_**Thesis, dissertation, oral defense.**_

_**PhD, specializing in host and parasite relationships**_

_**French language**_, something that contributed much to who she is, a comforting aspect in her life, sort of a touchstone.

_**L'Institute de Maria Sibylla Merian**_

Little by little, these pieces infiltrate her, to the point that she speaks French in her mind, the accent perfected through the memories, and she wonders if this is how a memory transplant feels like. She has a good grasp of her dream self that, if by some miracle, she was transported to this place called Paris, she would fit in and not be lost.

She used the information and knowledge she gleamed to study and understand her current reality, memories of hours of lectures and lab on biology, microbiology, chemistry, anatomy, and human body systems giving her a huge advantage as she studies and reviews the different plants and species from all over The Known World used for making potions and poisons, as well as use it in the medical field, the simple act of boiling her instruments and keeping her hands clean doing wonders in preventing infections. She has built a very advanced and unique database on the subject, making her the foremost expert in the field, having created new potions, corrected and perfected old ones, and developed methods for detecting poisons.

_Using knowledge from a far more advanced world and revising it to fit its parallels in this one...it feels like cheating somehow._ But the thought that she's helping people and making a difference puts her at ease, overriding the strangeness of it all. _Especially now._

She flips the journal to the pages whose edges are worn from the number of times her hands have pored over them. As she looks at it, her fingers doing their usual circuit, the familiar rush of happiness, warmth, and longing never fails to make her feel like she is drowning and flying at the same time. This is the first thing she has written, the very first word during that night she woke up screaming.

_**Cosima**_

The paper is bruised by the heavy blows from her mind, a hurricane bursting out as ink, wreaking havoc, the urgent desperation to write it all down battering the parchment in hurried strokes and harsh indentations, until all the emotions clawing both her mind and heart have finally bled out in the last drop of black on white parchment.

Afterwards, her hands were numb, her whole body was numb. Even her mind felt does not remember falling back to sleep, exhaustion taking pity on her, and even as she lay there, cracked open and bled dry, she dimly comes to the conclusion that she loves this girl.

_How could I not?_

Cosima has taken a large portion of the journal, her mannerisms, her smiles, her body, her brazenness and brilliance, all crammed in arrows and spaces. When she wakes, it is always with half of her still stuck in the dream, as if being someone else who is also her, like someone snuck in during the night, dismantled her then hastily rearranged the pieces right before she opened her eyes. The pieces always find their way back eventually, rebuilding who she is right here and right now in this reality, but sometimes they linger, the fragments scraping and scratching, crawling much too sluggishly, and she would spend the whole day disoriented and untethered, in love and heartbroken, half stuck in another reality until the pieces finally repositioned themselves.

Her eyes skim through the rough scribbles of that night.

_**Cosima Niehaus. **_

_**San Fransisco, California.**_

_**Berkeley**_

_**Evo devo at Minessota. The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin. **_She was someone who matched her intellect and passion for science, someone who finally _gets it...gets me._

_**Running away to the quad hand in hand. **Because the little brat stole two bottles of wine. _Delphine cannot remember what came before or why Cosima swiped those bottles, but she couldn't care less because the thrill of running away from the scene of the crime, the warmth from the smaller woman's hand tangled in her own, has left a very glaring impression.

"_Let's go steal some bikes."_

"_No, that's too much crime for me."_

"_It's so nice to make a friend in this brave new world."_

She bites her lips at the next words.

_**First kiss. **_She was taken by surprise, flustered and not sure of what to do when Cosima's lips pressed against her own.

"_ Oh. God, Delphine, did I just make a huge mistake?" _Thinking back on it, she wants to strangle herself for even making Cosima ask that question._ Non. Non, mon amour, If that was a mistake, it would be the best mistake in forever, because it's what made silly old me embrace something and love someone I never even considered for myself. _

Her eyes flicker down to the list of words, her smile growing wider, until she reaches the bottom.

_**324B21. **This...is her tag number. _ There is an arrow pointing to another word beside it, her index finger trailing over the m, past the o, going to the n then the i. Her hand stills, clenching into a fist, as if it could crumple what she is for subject 324B21. _And I'm..._ she doesn't finish the thought, the memory of it proving to be too much, so she continues and turns to the more recent pages. Ever since she got that message from the Fairy, her Cosima dreams have become an almost nightly occurrence, eclipsing the ones about Paris, about immunology and science...even about her own life, and frankly, she didn't mind.

_**"I'm sick, Delphine"**_ she wrote this on her first night on the ship bound for King's Landing. "_We need some help! Cosima!_ "

Her heart twist itself as she recalls hearing her own voice desperately and helplessly calling out as Cosima seizes on the floor, blood staining the floor the way it stained the walls of Delphine's brain, something that can never be washed off. And thus, she didn't sleep for the following nights, forcing herself to think of her task instead.

_**Eskimo pie. **_This was during her first night in Ethan's chambers, hopping out of bed as the phantom emotions clog her reality, the dream still fresh in her mind. The memory started with Cosima shrugging her red coat on, and ended on Delphine's thoughts.

"_Prepare yourself, you're about to become a craven addict."_

"_I think I already am." And I probably always will be._

She didn't sleep after that, the excitement and fear of being reunited more potent than any espresso shot, any nicotine hit she remembers taking, even though it was just a little snippet of a memory.

Where other people only had a page, Cosima just filled page after page, but despite all and everything that was written on the pages, the amount of ink spilled to anchor the reality of the memories on paper , there is one truth that is absolute for Delphine: her love for Cosima is written in indelible ink, written in every drop of blood, every breath in her lungs, in everything that she is, in the very core of her being, in every subatomic particle, and it is something she knows will mark her enduringly and eternally.

There were still a lot of blank spaces of course, a lot of questions written as sidenotes, the only clear thing being Cosima and their shared moments, but those that are beyond that are frustratingly obscure, even with new memories being unearth ever since she arrived in King's Landing. There are missing pieces, she knows Cosima is a clone, that she's her monitor, but that's where it ends; how exactly it came to that and who controls the monitors is still unknown. Delphine can only make general assumptions and conclusions based on what she has, and the important pieces are still question marks in her journal, _like Aldous. _Somehow, she can feel that he's involved somewhere, that he's more than the pop scientist in the magazines.

_Whether he is involved or not, he's probably not the same person here. That is another world after all. Circumstances surrounding him may be different here in Westeros, producing a different version of him. _

It was something she realized after meeting Rachel. Again, all she knows of the Rachel from there are general things, like looking at a driver's license or a patient record: you can see their name, age, color of hair etc, but you don't see the circumstances behind the mask, don't see the disappointment that led to steely eyes, don't see the story behind every action and reaction producing the physical manefestation.

She looks for Rachel's page, and rereads what's written there.

_**Another clone.**_

_**Ruthlessly efficient, cold, professional, brilliant in a scary way. **_

_**Adopted by Professor Ethan Duncan.**_

_**Up in DYAD hierarchy.**_

And that's it, nothing more she can see from her dreams, but for now, it doesn't matter, because the Rachel that matters is the one in her current reality.

_The one I see clearer is Rachel Lannister, not Rachel Duncan. And so far, they are more or less the same. Same iciness, same cold calculated ruthlessness. She takes what she wants, and bless the poor souls who stand in her way. _But she has seen something from Rachel Lannister that wasn't in Rachel Duncan, saw it in the way she avoided her father's corpse, the way she is on a bloodtrail to find the truth behind his death whereas Rachel Duncan would just have burried him and be done with it. _I can't put a finger on it, but there is something Rachel Lannister has that makes her different here, as though Rachel Duncan's what if's were transferred to her. After all, even I am somewhat different from Delphine Cormier. Here, I am less gullible, more...aggressive maybe? Less confused? Although knowing what Delphine Cormier knows contributes to that. I am her, she is me, we are different and the all, we are only what we know._

On that note, she wonders what Cosima's differences would be, and the endless possibilities suddenly takes away the warm blanket she is wrapped in, replacing it with chilling apprehension and fear, making her snap the journal shut.

_Breathe, Delphine, breathe. _She does her best to calm the clamoring between her ribs. _Your purpose here is to solve this, and to prepare for what's to come. _But even in her mind, it's but a flimsy excuse, a forced rationalization against the emotions gripping her.

She bites her lips and closes her eyes.

_Merde._

_**...**_

*pokes head out of hole.

So...is there some kind of initiation or requirement, like cut someone's tail and dance with it in a club, or have sex on the countertop with a stranger just to shut him up, or torture someone with a glue gun after I golf club-whacked and duct taped them in the basement , or immediately taunt someone after being warned that she "takes insults personally", or do I hide my ugly face on my way out of here?


	8. Thunderstrikes and Skinny Knights

AN: Being new in Clone Club

Pros: Fuck yeah, I have 20 episodes to devour! WTF! Mindblown! Feels exploding all over the place! This show is awesome.

Cons: After binge watching, you move on to the lost-and-floating-and-crying-in-season-break world where you rewatch in infinity loop and the only thing that keeps you breathing is the coming of a new season as you become more and more like Helena...or Golum

And don't worry, all the action's gonna be in Westeros, those were just flashbacks in the form of dreams, to start establishing or revealing Delphine's ambiguity. Because, badass Delphine is badass. Period.

On with the story then.

* * *

><p>The Great Hall was flowing with nobles from all over the kingdoms, decked in the respective colors of their houses, come to pay their respects to the man who was laid out just below the few steps to the Iron Throne.<p>

Cosima cannot count the times she has groaned out loud, and a lot more internally.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate this?" she grumbles to Scott, who she thankfully found was easy to spot due to his black robes.

"Only about a hundred times."

"Euughh. I hate this." she repeats, just for good measure.

"I,for one, am excited. Grand maester Aldous has informed us that the person we'll be working with will also be announced today, a potions master from-" he is interrupted from his word vomit when Cosima spots Alison chatting with two women, all smiles and poise, her hair flowing free like dark fire and making a beautiful contrast against her blue grey dress. _Well, at least someone's enjoying this as much as I'm not. _She tugs Scott along, moving towards their direction.

"Lady Alison." he greets when they approach her, the same time that Cosima throws off a casual "hey Alison" and proceeds to hug her.

"Princess Cosima, how wonderful to see you again" Alison replies, trying to mollify the fastidious and disapproving looks from Lady Aynsley and Lady Charity at the inappropriate greeting, adding "Oh, you know how the Dornish are" as an explanation. Said Dornish catches on.

"Yeah, we do things differently in Dorne." she flashes a friendly smile, hands dancing in front of her as she tries to rectify her careless social blunder. _And I just had to do it to Alison. Great._

Both blondes eye her up and down. "Differently indeed." Lady Charity's voice was dripping with antipathy. Cosima's head tilts passive aggressively to the side, a derisive look in her eyes.

"And this is?" Alison gestures to Scott, trying to dispel the tension.

"This is Maester Scott, newly appointed from the Citadel." she introduces with pride in her voice while he fumbles around, not used to interacting with women.

"And very loose when it comes to choosing friends." Charity continues with her attitude. "You really must reconsider the people you acquaint with, Princess Cosima."

"Maester Scott is not an acquaintance, he's my friend. And you're right, I really must reconsider the people I acquaint with, which is exactly what I'm doing right now."

Satire, sass, and an all-charming smile still plastered on her face that they're not sure if she's mocking them or not.

A steward cuts into their conversation. "Pardon me, my Ladies. Lady Alison, Princess Cosima, if you would follow me, the introductions are about to start." Alison grabs Cosima's arm, quickly maneuvering her before she says something else.

When they take their places, she finally takes a proper look at her tattooed friend.

"Well, it's good to see that, despite the dress, you at least made an effort to make yourself presentable." she comments, that even though she knows Cosima is gorgeous to begin with, she mentally approves of the prettified version, the eyes painted with care, the thin braids swirled into an elaborate bun, the red orange gown revealing more tanned skin than is usually seen in the Capitol, and putting the lithe body and tattoos on full display, causing quite a number of stiff necks from all the people craning their heads to take a proper look.

"Please, it's just a matter of a few tidying up, and with all the gaping and the number of times I've been checked out, I know I'm beyond presentable." She says it with casual confidence, as if stating a simple fact. "Why do we have to do this?" an exasperated whine follows immediately.

"It's customary for those of the Great Houses to be presented, you know this princess Cosima."

"Oh, come on, when are you ever going to simply call me Cosima?"

" You are to be addressed properly, _Princess Cosima_." Alison cuts in, the word princess sounding like an absolute admonishment, making the dark lined eyes in front of her roll.

"And it's not like they don't know who we are. Besides, it's a funeral, for crying out loud."

"Known only by name, not by face for many of those here. And yes, it's a funeral, but a lot of nobles and prominent people are present, it would be an opportunity for these people to reacquaint."

"Opportunistic people who can't wait to do either business or gossip, you mean?" Honesty and sarcasm roll of her tongue.

Alison was spared from answering by the herald's announcement, "Princess Cosima Martell of Dorne," and she gives a little push, reminding the Dornish that it's her turn to face the crowd, so to speak.

Cosima sighs, but when she walks, she walks confidently, strutting more like, her arms swinging, the metal links on her wrists jangling, stopping a few feet away from the pedestal where the body lay.

"Your Grace." She inclines her head a little, the gesture returned by the King. After her customary greeting, she walks to the left side, eager to avoid possible unnecessary conversations.

"Lady Alison Tully of Riverrun." She turns to see her friend do the same greeting. Where Cosima was exotic unabashedness , Alison was perfected decorum and propriety. _I wonder how we get along_, she thinks as she waves her over and takes her hand, walking with Alison in tow.

"Come on, let's go." Her whole body jerks back when the auburn stops abruptly at the word 'go'.

"Go? Go where? The others are still being announced, our presence is mandatory as a customary sign of acknowledgement."

"Well, can we be mandatorily acknowledging someplace where it doesn't feel like my brain will start decaying or else my hands will 'accidentally' smack people's faces?"

Alison sighs in a huff, about to go off in an itemized commentary on proper behavior but relents when she spots Felix up by the left wing. "Alright, follow me." They make their way to the steps on the left side towards the solitary individual looking for all the world as if bored and yet Cosima cannot help but think that he is the exact opposite of bored. He notices their approach and faces them, addressing them with a slight bow.

"Lady Alison. Didn't expect you to be out of the noble swarm you seem to prefer." Cosima's eyebrow raises at the backhanded way he spoke with decorum personified.

"Oh hush, Fairy." Alison's mock admonishment of a reply makes both brows disappear in her hairline.

Noticing the reaction, she clears her throat. "Yes, well, my friend here needed some space. Lord Felix, this is Princess Cosima. And this" she gestures towards the lanky frame decked out in edgy clothes, dark teal lining the rim of his eyes, "is Lord Felix, Master of Whisperers."

"Oooh, the Dornish princess. I do so love the Dornish. Wonderful people, more free and accepting of us 'deviants' as these uptight lot swimming in bigotry call us, yeah?" The way his words made Alison's eyes widen and jump from the two of them, with a whispered 'is he also referring to you', makes Cosima like him instantly, sensing a savvy mind behind the outrageous robes and perfectly coifed curl falling on his brow.

"Yeah" she breaks out into a grin. "I've heard of you, but I didn't expect The Fairy to be..." her hands compensate for her lack of words, waving in an up and down motion towards his body.

"Were you expecting someone with wings?"

"Ahm, a fat bald eunuch, actually."

"Huh!" he dramatically huffs, complete with an eyeroll "I am the complete opposite of all those things. A eunuch! Really? I can prove to you right now how very un-eunuchy I am." And he shuffles as if to remove his robes.

"Ah, n-n-n-n-o! That won't be necessary." Alison clucked, causing both of them to hide their laughs, although in vain.

"You look even more delightful up close." He says, his eyes appreciating the view. "And your breasts are more superb than..." Alison glares at him. "No offense, Lady Tully," he says instead, receiving her crazy eyes in return.

This causes Cosima to throw an _I told you so _smirk at Alison who gave her her own dose of crazy eyes.

They all turn to look at the throng of nobility below, watching the proclamation of the other members of the great houses who were able to attend.

"Oh, Lady Charity and Lady Aynsley." Alison chippers while Cosima almost growls. "I'll call them right over."

"Oh, look, it's Scott," she mimics Alison's tone, "I'll call him right over too." And they both wave their friends over, which of course ended up being an awkward reintroduction with Scott mumbling,Charity sniping, Aynsley quietly judging, Cosima trying to teach Charity a lesson on being rude, and Alison trying to subtly teach Cosima a lesson on being rude. Thankfully, the Master of Whisperers was quick on interceding before it escalates.

"Oh, I think it's the last person."

"Delphine of Lys." The herald's clear and booming voice is sufficient in taking their attention, but he falters at the last syllable.

They all turn to face the person who just walked in, and what they saw effectively shut them up, the herald's falter completely justified.

There is a collective gasp as the last honorary walks towards the Iron Throne, all the men and more than half the women sighing in a dreamy fashion. The woman approaching the King was extraordinarily bewitching, her presence and the way she sauntered commands the whole room, their sense of time slowed down as they take in every inch of her anatomy, of her pale creamy skin encased in a soft flowing gown accentuating her willowy frame and making her look like she's floating, the light from the glass windows delineating every plane and dip, every muscle and curve from her bare shoulders and arms as they sway lightly. All eyes were on her, the grace and sensuality that she moved with entrapping them in a trance, her green-brown eyes on a beatific face, but it is her hair that does the trick. Soft golden curls frame her face, the tips teasing as they brush her shoulder, every strand catching the light, reflecting it and somehow making it look better.

Cosima couldn't breathe, couldn't tear her eyes away, couldn't stop the deafening thunderstrikes originating from her chest and scurrying down her veins, burning her lungs, rooting her to the spot. _Gods, I can't feel my legs, I don't know if I'm sinking or catapulted into the air, I just know that I can't feel the ground anymore. What is this? Who exactly is she? And why does she make me feel nervous? It feels like I saw her somewhere._

Alison was the first to say something.

"Oh my. By the Mother, her _hair _is...it's impossibly ethereal and otherworldly. It must be a gift from the gods themselves, there is no other explanation for it. Hair like that does not simply exist without some kind of supernatural interference."

"And I would kill to have her body." Charity sighs in envy and admiration.

Even Felix leans in, murmuring a "Now I get it.", his words echoing the inner workings of his mind as he pieces things together.

Scott's mouth was hanging open, "H-h-h-hwaaooow. I didn't know it was _her._"

It took a few moments for his comment to register in Cosima's head who was still mentally caught up with this foreigner and her unexplainable reactions . "Hold it, you mean _that _is the potions master you're gonna be working with?"

"Yeah, the foremost expert in the field. I mean, that it's a woman is surprising enough but...her? I've only heard rumors about her, about a woman with overwhelming beauty. I always thought they were exaggerating but, wow, just wow, I think they were playing it down."

Charity was quick to scoff. "Come now, you don't really believe that, can you? Even though I know she's pretty, I'm sure there's someone else who's prettier." Everybody, including Aynsley, looked at her as if she had three heads and no eyes.

"Some even swear she is descended from Irogenia herself, dubbing her the present Irogenia." Scott says with reverence, sighing every now and then. "They're right you know, I mean, the beauty part, not the courtesan part."

"Who's Irogenia?" Alison asks Felix, who was behind her.

"A courtesan from Lys, famed for her beauty. It is said that Irogenia of Lys could finish a man with nothing but her eyes... Kings traveled across the world for a night with Irogenia. Magisters sold their palaces. Khals burned her enemies just to have her for a few hours. They say a thousand men proposed to her and she refused them all. "

"And you'd know all about courtesans, wouldn't you, Lord Felix." Aynsley's tone was heavy with insinuation, but she is surprised by the way Felix answers, almost as if what she said was a compliment, a suspiciously agreeing grin on his face.

"Of course I do, Lady Aynsley."

Aynsley changes tactics and pries instead. "Why is a foreigner from Essos being presented today?"

"Officially, she's here to assist and work with Grand Maester Aldous concerning potions, widen the knowledge and all that, especially since there are a lot of ingredients that are only known in Essos. She's the best in the field."

Cosima was surprised too, that there was a woman being recognized for her talents, by the grand maester, no less, and voices it out. "Strange, I've never heard of her."

_Nobody has ever put a face on the name of the mysterious expert , and nobody has ever put a name to the famed and rumored face. To think it's the same person...she's something else, _Felix ruminates

"Not surprising. Actually, neither did I, until the Grand Maester notified our small group yesterday." Scott shrugs.

_A small group who is unwittingly solving a possible murder. I have to admit, the way the small council can twist and cover up events is astounding. _Felix was mentally applauding their handiwork, not aware that it went deeper and that her arrival had been covered up for more than a week.

The discussion goes back to the mystery of this foreign beauty, the small group joining the murmurs and no doubt the same questions as the people below were asking each other.

Cosima was only half listening to them, her jumbled thoughts making her hear only a slight buzz, her eyes stuck on the pale woman making her way towards the grand maester. _What in the name of all the gods is this? I can't even identify a single emotion going through my head. _So she concludes based on her physical reactions instead.

_Okay. Increased heartbeats, my hands feel cold, my stomach feels weird, sound exclusion. _She recalls things that can illicit these responses. _There's attraction, love, nervousness, elation, excitement...anger, fear, danger._ Her train of thought is interrupted when the King stands and addresses the crowd, the word _danger_ echoing in her subconscious.

"I would like to thank all of you for coming today, to honor this..." the King's voice cracks, tears glistening in his eyes, and the crowd goes silent, waiting. He clears his throat, and lets his emotions show through his tone, low and somber.

"We lost a great man." he begins slowly. "The seven kingdoms would not be what they are today if not for Lord Ethan. I know there are no words that can ever measure up for all he has done. And I also know that this is a day of mourning, but I would also like to make this a day of celebration, a day to welcome a knight who has earned the title and place. As you all know, the brave and gallant Kingsguard were one member short, and today that spot is to be filled. Step forward " he gestures to one of the white cloaked knights, who walks towards him in a serious manner, every movement disciplined, "and let this be a day not only to honor the dead, but also to honor the naming for the most coveted spot in knighthood."

"He looks rather small and sort of skinny, don't you think?" Scott observes, the leaner frame noticeable even at a distance and underneath the armor. "Those chosen to be in the Kingsguard are usually bulkier, since they're the best in the land."

The newest Kingsguard stands before the King, glistening in newly forged golden armor. The surprise is audible as the helmet is removed, revealing dark brown hair. Long dark brown hair in a tight warbraid and an even tighter bun.

Even the King is surprised, not expecting the person behind the armor. His eyes meet that of Lord Commander Gavin's, clearly saying _I tried telling you._ He couldn't back out of his decision, not when she was already there, kneeling, staring at him as though challenging him to retract the knighting in front of all of these people.

He unsheathes his sword, deciding to deal with the possible repercussions later, but also confident in his decision in naming her as one of the Kingsguard. "I, King Donald Baratheon, first of my name..."

As he recites the words, Cosima squints her eyes, trying to remember why she looks familiar, and then she could not stop the "Holy crises! I recognize her!" that comes blurting out of her mouth. Alison's wide eyes, previously gawking at the female knight, turns to look at her, the incredulity and shock very transparent.

King Donnie's voice echoes through the halls, marking a special moment that has never happened before in the history of naming Kingsguards.

"Rise, Elizabeth Selmy."

* * *

><p>yes, I have excessive adulation for Delphine's hair, coz it's so perfect it has the power to spawn fanfiction all by itself, therefore: ALL HAIL THE IMMORTAL HAIR, bow, oh unworthy creatures. I caught myself obsessively staring at it whenever it comes on screen and have to rewind to watch whatever else was going on..and then my eyes hopelessly drift back. <strong>Sing praise and bow to The Puppy Hair.<strong>


	9. Poison and Wine

AN: I'm immensely gratified that I'm not the only hopeless person bewitched by THE HAIR. There should be like a department in the clone club dedicated to lauding THE HAIR, and i'm pretty sure it would include every single clone clubber.

And Beth! Please tell me I'm not the only one desperately waiting for a backstory. She had less than a minute of screen time but has managed to make my feels explode all over the place.=(

Aaaand, thanks for reading and commenting, it really means a lot, feedback is one of the best things a writer can ever have.

* * *

><p>For the second time, Scott's mouth drops open "Oh my gods. She's a Selmy."<p>

For the others, it was "Oh my gods, it's a woman."

For Cosima, it was "Oh my Alison, it's Beth!", her friend's eyes still wide in equal parts astonishment and alarm that the status quo was broken.

For Felix, it was _Oh my gods, look at your silly faces._

Scott continues glorifying someone who he clearly looked up to as a hero."Her father is a legend among knights. He was the previous and youngest to become Lord Commander, but he died during the rebellion. If not for his sacrifice, the outcome would have been different." He was so caught up in his explanation that he was late in noticing the dagger looks Alison was throwing him, her eyes flitting to Cosima.

When he finally understands why, his face goes slack, giving her an apologetic look. "Oh, forgive me, I didn't mean to bring it up." but she waves it away, murmuring "It's fine. I wasn't even conceived yet. I never knew them." but her eyes give away the what ifs of every child who grew up not knowing how it would have been to have siblings. The barbaric slaughter of her brothers and uncle in the very same room they were standing in was something everybody knew. After all, it was what sparked the Cosima's father to amass the largest southern army of fierce and frightening vipers and join the rebellion.

Felix, ever the situation handler, but more of actually pitying the remorseful expression on Scott's face, diverts the conversation.

"Remember this day then, and feast your eyes on the first ever female Kingsguard."

Charity snorts in disgust. "This is madness. How can a girl be a knight, and a Kingsguard of all things? How is she supposed to protect the King when she's inferior? She must have done something to get the spot."

"I heard from Ser Chad that someone hacked one of the Kinsguard, that's why there was a vacancy, it must be her." Aynsley found this out during one of her 'meetings' with Chad.

"Impossible. I heard she was sleeping with one of the Kingsguard, Ser Paul I think, and she spends too much time with the other one. That must be it, she might even be sleeping with the Lord Comm-"

"I suggest you watch your words, Lady Charity, the Lord of Whisperers is with us. First of all, she's not a girl, she is a woman grown, and our great King has his reasons, and whatever those may be, I'm sure she is very much deserving of them." Alison couldn't stop the need to defend the only child of the previous Lord Commander, something that she herself can't understand. _It must be because I sympathize, in a way. That must be it, being a Kingsguard must be a demanding responsibility._

Aynsley and Charity, however, think she is defending the King. "Of course, Lady Alison, we meant no disrespect to the King." Their attitude goes to being curious. "So, what's going on between the two of you? I hear you shared a moment with him yesterday. I've seen him looking at you numerous times a while ago. I think he likes you." Alison blushes at this.

"He was just asking how the trades are going, and if there's anything he can do to help. It's nothing."

"Nothing? Nothing?! We all know that that's not nothing, Lady Alison." Aynsley gasps.

_Yes. _Her mind squeaks a little, flattered and proud that of all the women in King's Landing and here, where the kingdoms have gathered, he still chose to look at her. She feels like she's done right by catching the King's eye, the penultimate goal for a Lady as dictated by society.

"I see Lady Meera. Come with us, Lady Alison, and tell us all about it." Charity promptly looks at her.

Alison spots Meera below, then gazes once more at the kneeling knight by the throne, sunlight glinting off the golden armor.

_She looks so brave, _she thinks absentmindedly.

"Lady Alison?"

"Hmm? Yes, I mean no, I think I'll stay here with Princess Cosima, Lord Felix, and Maester Scott." Her choice draws different reactions.

Cosima looks at her with surprise, Felix with suspicion, Scott with newfound respect, and the blondes with confusion.

"Are you sure?" Charity asks.

"Yeah, are you sure?" Cosima repeats, genuinely concerned for her friend's mental state.

"Yes, quite sure."

Charity draws back. "All right then, I suppose you can always tell us another time." They join Meera in the crowd below.

* * *

><p>Beth rises from her position, bows to the King, and goes back to where she was standing guard.<p>

"I thought for sure you were going to wear a codpiece."

"Shut it, dipshit." and she uses the movement of putting her helmet back on to elbow-shove Ser Arthur standing beside her, her friend and now fellow Kingsguard.

He chuckles, but offsets it with his next words. "For real though, you're going to have to prove the size of your metaphorical codppiece."

"I thought I already did, which is why I'm standing here beside you."

"I know that, but really, it will be hard being the only one not wearing a codpiece in a codpiece-conscious and dominated circle. The Kingsguard is a brotherhood, but you're the first ever female to be initiated, and you'll have to prove yourself to everybody else aside from myself." She snorts and he presses on. "It's gonna be hard Beth, somebody is always gonna say something, even of your fighting skills have improved and is very commendable."

She says nothing, stonily gazing at the crowd because she knows it's true.

"Don't stare at them like you wanna kill them, word's already spreading that you hacked poor Ser Mandon to pieces, beheaded him, swam in his blood, probably drank it too."

"I applaud their imagination, it really knows no bounds." she says, more amused than offended.

"Exactly, their imagination knows no bounds." He didn't have to say the other rumours of how she got in the Kingsguard out loud, they both knew how the people's tongues wagged about other people. She looks across the room, near the Iron throne where the Lord Commander and other Kingsguard are stationed, eyeing one in particular, and as if sensing her gaze, Ser Paul's blue eyes locks on hers.

Regret. Grudging respect. Hurt. Perhaps even a sense of moving on. Spanning the throne room, this is what flows between their gazes, a silent agreement of understanding, even if it was just for the moment.

* * *

><p>Delphine dips her head, golden curls tumbling gracefully to the side with the movement.<p>

"Your Grace." The way the words slip out of her mouth with a different cadence and inflection as she says them clearly marks her non-Westerosi origin, furthering her allure as a foreigner, making half of the room sigh all over again. She sees Grand Maester Aldous, beckoning for her to join him, and decides to walk towards him since it seems the logical action to do so.

"So, how does it feel being unmasked and revealing your identity for the first time." He asks, following her as her feet takes her anywhere, away to escape the gaping and gawking.

"It...feels" _awful, dreadful; like it makes me want to cringe "..._exactly the way I imagined it to be._" _She is not blind on how she looks, and is very aware of the reactions she draws from people, which is why she opted to hide her identity, an advantage for her since it allowed her to accomplish more work, in quiet and in private. In unveiling herself, she knows that she is catapulted into prominence, now becoming the biggest talk and hottest topic of the whole western continent.

"Not all bad, I hope."

She smiles and it appears flawless but she is struggling on keeping it plastered and not make little puppy growls. _There will be people constantly digging and asking. Dieu, I am going to miss the peaceful silence. Despite my abilities, I will not be able to escape notice all the time. I will be like an ant being scrutinized through a magnifying glass._

"I have to tell you, even though I already knew, when I first saw you, who _and_ what you were, seeing you walk that aisle , my dear you absolutely took my breath away, me and every occupant in this room. Although who would have known, that the famed Present Iorgenia and the foreign expert are one and the same?"

_Who would have known indeed. Those who do know only do because I let them. _She just keeps smiling instead.

"I've already notified your attendance and purpose to the little group I have chosen to work with us. They were told only what they needed to know, of course. I look forward to start working with you" he says with genuine excitement. _Perhaps a little bit too much_. There is something in the way he says it that makes her backtrack for a moment, but only for a moment.

"Likewise." In truth, she herself is excited, circumstances notwithstanding. Her passion for knowledge and science has always marked her, even in both worlds, and the thought of working and exchanging information with like minds in the most advanced medieval laboratory, plus the extent of materials available, gives her an anticipatory thrill.

Aldous slows down from his steps, and she turns to face him when she notices him falling behind.

"Ah, just the person I wanted to see." he says after squinting for a few moments, spotting black robes at the distance. It takes her a moment to realize where her feet have taken them, and that they have just alighted on the left wing. She watches uncertainly as he puts his hand up, gesturing at someone behind her.

And then she feels it, a forceful tug similar to the unexplainable vague sensation she felt when she snuck in during the preparation of Ethan's body. This time, it felt like an invisible internal string has just yanked her backwards with the force of a sledgehammer. This time, she follows her instinct, unable to resisit. This time, when she does, the tugging pulls away the air in her lungs, freezing her, along with her sense of time.

There, a hundred paces away, a pair of dark rimmed eyes is intently watching her.

_Cosima._Delphine can feel her heart jump out of her chest, running full speed towards the other way. _Cosima_, her mind whispers once more, _it's her. It's her, it's Cosima._

Aldous' muffled voice in her head becomes clearer when she faintly hears the word 'introduce', causing absolute mayhem in her. She has longed and yearned for this moment to happen and always thought that she'd know exactly what to do, but now that she's actually in the moment, it only feels as if she's drowning on air.

She is faintly aware of someone in black robes hurrying over towards them, her eyes still soaking in the red orange clad figure ahead,

"Maester Scott, this is the extraordinary potions master we'll be working with, Delphine." Both men look at her expectantly, waiting for a response, then notice her silence and the way her eyes are focused towards the small group Scott just left.

"I can introduce them." Scott blurts out. Aldous concedes, noting how the foreigner was staring with such intensity.

"Of course. Shall we?"

His voice finally elicits a nod from her, kicking her muscles to move. She mentally thanks and congratulates her legs for not losing their function as she walks in a trance, the three of them approaching Alison, Cosima, and Felix, her gaze never wavering nor breaking.

One by one, she notices the similarities and differences as the distance gets smaller. _She looks different somehow, but so much more the same. Her skin is more tanned, with an olive tone. Even her hair is in micro braids, and oh, mon dieu, she's wearing glasses, even if they look rudimentary, _and she stops herself from melting into a puddle at how adorable Cosima looks.

They are finally face to face, and what she felt when she turned around does not compare to what she's feeling now. Here, up close, Delphine wants to weep in relief at how healthy and alive Cosima is. _She's here, in front of me, no sickly palor, no dark circles under her eyes, no bony prominence. Even when we used the embryos Helena left behind, it wasn't a cure._She clenches her fists, taking all of her willpower in resisting the urge to reach out and touch her, to ascertain that this is finally reality and not just another dream.

_All those nights of wondering, of being haunted, of laughter and love and pain...Cosima..._

"Uh, uhm, everybody, this is Grand Maester Aldous and Delphine of Lys._" _Scott presents then turns to them. "And this is Lord Felix, Lady Alison Tully of Riverrun, and Co-..Princess Cosima Martel of Dorne."

"Thank you Maester Scott, I believe the herald has already done the job." Aldous' comment registers in Delphine's mind, _Wait, Scott? _and she finally breaks eye contact to truly see the Maester she hasn't bothered looking at moments ago.

_Merde, it IS Scott. _Her eyes sweep towards the other two who were looking at her, one with curiousity, the other with wonder. _Alison! And Felix!_ She cannot help but feel a tinge of trepidition at way the Lord of Whisperers eyes her up and down, reminiscent of the way he arched his brow at her, spatting her name as if it was an insult.

_**It's Delphine! She's got baggage.**_ And even when she tried being civil with him, murmuring a small "Felix" in acknowledgement, he still rolled his eyes in distrust and forced a "Delphine" out of his mouth.

_Non. It is not them. They are different people here. They are not the exact same person. _But even with her self reassurances, her response is instinctual, because when she looks at them, at him with his darker skin, her with her auburn hair, she still sees the same core, still sees Felix Dawkins and Alison Hendrix behind their Westerosi counterparts.

Her eyes go back to Cosima who was still looking up at her with a serious expression.

"I'm afraid Lady Rachel is requiring me and the Grand Maester to attend another small council meeting." Felix redirects, already stepping out of the group and waiting for Aldous to follow, who turns to Delphine before he does.

"Will it be alright if I leave you with Maester Scott and these two lovely ladies?"

"Of course. I trust I am in good hands."

"Lord Felix, let us go then."

They make an odd pair as they walk away, one clothed in pure black robes, the other in artful and glamorous colors.

Alison, trained and bred in social conversations, puts her skills to use.

"I hear you're an expert and that you'll be helping with the Maester's work."

"Yes, she will be" Scott replies enthusiastically for her. "Hey, Cosima's sort of an expert too, she's always researching. She's the brilliant maker of the best wine in all the Seven Kingdoms" he boasts.

_Wine. Of course she'd still be brilliant even in this male dominated world. Of course she'd still be researching and creating something. And of course it would be wine. _Green brown eyes look down at dark ones with adoration, the memory of wine bottles in their both hands as they escaped the scene of the crime with fingers intertwined coming to mind. _Wine. I also tasted the remnants of wine the first time she kissed me._ _Sacre bleu, now I want to kiss her._

Cosima was still intently looking at her.

_Badly, _she adds, her teeth instictively catching her bottom lip.

"Well," Scott claps his hand "it is an honor to have two masters here then. One of wine, and one of-"

"Poison?" a voice brazenly cuts in.

Cosima's words all catch them off guard, most of all Delphine, brows arching in confusion and concern. She wasn't expecting hostility, even if it was veiled, from Cosima herself. This causes her to look, truly look past her haze of emotions, at how the smaller woman was regarding her.

Distrust. Alarm. Doubt. Apprehension.

It cleaves her chest in two, a familiar sensation that she doesn't give much thought as to why because she is suffocating from the sharp kick between her lungs. Somehow, she manages to school her features into pleasant neutrality. Suddenly, all her fears and nervousness from all those times she wondered how different Cosima would be comes rushing back. _Was I wrong? Are the differences really that pronounced?Is she a totally different person? But no, that isn't...it's Cosima, I can feel it._

"N-no, potion." Scott was unsure if it was an honest mistake or not.

"Oh, right, of course, my mistake,"Cosima smiles but it lacks the usual warmth and sincerity in her trademark smiles "it's so easy to interchange the two, just one letter apart after all, right?"

Alison was livid, as expected, her eyes as wide as the smile on her face. "What are you doing?" she hisses between clenched teeth, shifting her body so half of it is facing Cosima, indicating how serious she is, then faces Delphine when the Dornish simply looks at her.

"Forgive her, she's usually cheerful. She has had trouble sleeping, and events like these always make her crabby. I'm sure a proper restful night will fix her up."

"No, no, it's okay, she's right. Potion, poison. They are just a letter apart, as she says." Delphine smiles, hoping this would somehow reassure Cosima and ease the situation.

"I'm going to accompany her to her room, to make sure she gets that rest, she's tired."

"I'm n-"

"Very tired." Alison interferes, already holding Cosima's arm in a vise-like grip and proceeds to drag in a deceptively forceful manner.

"I hope to see you again" the blonde murmurs when they pass, and this time, the charm and placation in her voice is gone as she drops her eyes, the sting and injury apparent.

Cosima grunts in response.

The moment they were out of earshot, Alison rounds on her friend and rants while pacing."By the mother, what is wrong with you? She was being polite, even after you insulted her, and you still refuse to act decently! You're not being yourself, Cosima, you're usually an open and trusting person, you always give people the benefit of the doubt, so why? Why were you acting that way? She's done nothing to deserve that kind of treatment, why do you have to be so rude to this wonderful person who is practically a stranger!"

"Because she's not a stranger!"

The ends of the blue grey gown swirl to a stop, the sound of pacing footsteps halting.

"What?" The incredulity and confoundment is overflowing.

"I've seen her before._" _

* * *

><p>It's the year of the sheep, but the only thing that comes to mind is Helena. Because BAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.<p>

And I only realized that the Civil Wars' Poison and Wine is perfect for them.


	10. I'm Sorry and I'm Not

Right from the start, you were a thief, yous tole my heart

And I, your willing victim

Yep. That's the bg music in my head when Delphine finally saw Cosima

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you'd rather be with boring old us than even more boring old them?" Cosima jibes at Alison, after Aynsley and Charity depart, mimicking her posture and tone, putting one arm across her torso while her knuckles rest under her chin, a finger on her cheek, causing Scott to chuckle.<p>

Alison scowls. "No, I have...things to discuss with Lord Felix." Cosima raises both hands and shoulders in retreat.

He looks at her knowingly. "Oh, you do, do you?" Even he has a teasing tone.

"Yes,"she huffs, holding her head high as if that would compensate for her tiny frame. " the new Hand. Who is it going to be?" Felix had to give her credit for effectively shifting the conversation from herself.

"I'm not allowed to tell you. All I can say is that it's going to gather quite a reaction, but that it is a very sound choice." The two nobles squint their eyes at him. Cosima's mind was going through the possible candidates, but cannot think of anybody being a sound choice.

_I know of no one who can ever come close to being the Hand that Lord Ethan was...except..._

"Holy crikey, it's Rachel!"

Felix's brow arches up in surprise, but he neither denies nor confirms. _Well, she's as clever as they say. _His lack of response is enough for the princess to say "Ah, I knew it."

Felix still says nothing, even though he all but confirmed it.

"Wait, is that even allowed?" Cosima asks, the enormity of it dawning on her.

Scott nods in assent."It's not like the Order of Maesters where there is a strict males-only rule, but even if it is, it's going to be difficult, even for Lady Rachel."

"I'll have to agree." Alison chimes in "I know she's the first woman to ever be in the Small Council and that there are currently two now-"

"Two?" braids whirl around as Cosima looks at her in surprise.

"Yes, two" she responds distractedly "but it is one thing to be in the council, and another thing entirely to be the Hand. I heard there was a lot of protest when she became Master of Coin, and you've seen the reactions to the new Kingsguard being a woman, and I don't blame them."

Felix remembers Rachel's words when he brought up the same concern when the King chose her.

"_If they have a problem, they can address it directly to me...just like the last time, if you remember. A Lannister always pays her debts."_

"I think...I'm sure Lady Lannister can handle things. She has her own way of convincing people, just like the last time" he replies, borrowing her words.

"Yeah, how did she become Master of Coin in the first place?" Cosima has always wondered "and what do you mean just like the last time?"

Alison and Scott also turn to face him, not having quite heard the whole story themselves.

The Fairy clears his throat first, like a septa preparing to tell a cautionary tale to make the mischievous children behave, which, he realizes, might actually be the case here.

"It was three years ago, and there were still members of the Small Council from the Mad King's regime, one of those being the Master of Coin who became the Recently Deceased Master of Coin. A new replacement was needed, and Lord Ethan suggested his daughter for the position. As expected, there was a lot of protest, especially from the male nobles aspiring to be the replacement." He still remembers that day, because it was a day that made history, the day that a woman was given an official position for the first time

"_Your Grace, may I suggest Rachel Lannister as the next Master of Coin." Everybody, even Felix, was surprised and unsure of Ethan's proposal. There was immediate protest from the Master of Laws who was also from the days of the Mad King himself. "Preposterous! The Small Council is no place for a girl of, what, fourteen?fifteen?"_

"_She is eighteen, no longer a girl." **She hasn't been one ever since she turned twelve**, he mentally adds._

"_That is not the issue here. There are others who are older and have far more experience than your own daughter!", the aging Master of Law explodes, the word 'daughter' heavy with insinuation and criticism."It is simply out of the question."_

_Ethan knows that the old man is just voicing out what everybody is thinking, but he cannot completely keep the indignation out of his tone when he speaks._

"_If the issue is experience, she has been acting Lord of Casterly Rock for years now. I recommend her not because she's my daughter, but because of her capability. The Kingdom's treasury is running low, and we need someone who can handle that."_

_The Master of Law explodes "Are you saying the former Master of Coin was not doing his job?!" _

_**Yes**, Felix answers in his mind,** he was an incompetent graying fool who spent more time in my whorehouses than in this room. **_

_Ethan expected this, he knows he is making a huge and risky move, and convincing the higher ups and prominent people on the Capital will be next to impossible. He sighs patiently, then stands up to face the King._

"_I am saying that the kingdom needs a person who can rectify the treasury's problems, and I strongly believe Rachel to be capable of that." One by one, he meets their gazes, Aldous giving him a nod of approval. "When have I ever done something that is not for the Kingdom?" One by one, they drop their eyes. "When have I ever failed in my duty and judgement as Hand of the King? If you think that my duty as Hand is faltering, then maybe I'm not the man for the job." This time, King Donnie jumps a little from his seat, the Master of Law shifts in his chair uncomfortably, sputtering in defense._

"_Th-that is not what I meant. We all know you are invaluable, but threatening the small council to get what you want and instill a woman in this room, I think not! It just simply isn't done."_

"_You, as Master of Law, are very much aware that there is no law stating that a woman is not allowed in the council. It all falls on the King, he appoints whoever he chooses."_

"_Then I'm sure His Grace will abide by what he knows is right and appoint someone from the heads of notable houses."_

_Ethan draws to his full height and faces the king, slowly walking towards him as he speaks. "I know that what I'm suggesting may be too much, but at least give it a chance, give her a month for a chance to prove herself."_

"_A month?! What could she possibly accomplish in a month?"_

_Ethan ignores this, and looks down at the king in his seat. "Donnie" he whispers, and blue eyes stare up at him at the lack of a title, almost pleading, the indecision and uncertainty on what to do very apparent "a month, that is all I ask." He cracks under the gaze of the man he considers the kingdom's, and his own, hero, the man who saved the kingdom and made it prosper, keeping the peace over the years. He shuts his eyes for a moment, then faces the other members with a new resolve._

"_I grant one month as a trial period for Lady Rachel Lannister as Master of Coin, and that is my final decision." Nobody said anything, because nobody could argue and take back a king's decision, there was only silence to answer him._

_Felix finally says something to move them along from the silent spell. "I suppose that means this meeting is adjourned." There's the sound of chairs scraping and mumbling as they step out of the room._

_Felix was the last to exit, and he sees Donnie catching the Hand's arm before he could turn "I hope you're right about this." His voice is low; scared, but with a hardness in it._

"So she was able to replenish the treasury enough for the naysayers to concede, and in a month?" Cosima clarifies, having newfound,albeit reluctant, respect for Rachel.

"Actually, no, she tripled the city's best amount in two weeks. And now the Kingdom wouldn't be in debt for, oh, another hundred years or so."

"Tripled?"

"Two weeks?" The brainiacs were openly gaping, Alison more composed in her astonishment by bringing her hand to her lips in a startled manner.

"And all the highborn men who had a thing to say against it, they suddenly found themselves deep in debt and stripped of power, title, and dignity along with their money...let's just say they were never able to say nay again."

"Wh-howww?"

"Lady Rachel has an exceptional talent in handling things and negotiating deals, especially with the Iron Bank of Braavos. Plus, it doesn't hurt that they are the richest family. Not even the number of golden strands on those Lannister heads combined can rival the gold in their hands. The Master of Laws expired the year after that, and the second woman to be in council was appointed in the position, chosen also for her special and peculiar abilities. Surprisingly, there were fewer comments this time."

Scott looks absolutely terrified, and if Cosima wasn't scared of Rachel then, she certainly is now.

"Still, being the Hand is a whole new level," she manages to swallow her fear, "because then, she'd basically be...running the kingdom, and handling its...dealings_" . That means I'll be discussing my plans with her, if she even allows a discussion! _As her brain is realizing the implications of Rachel being the Hand of the King and its impact on her plans, she sees Felix's head jerk up towards something. Something compels her to look, and she wished she hadn't, because it felt like her heart slid down to her stomach, but at the same time, she couldn't pull her eyes away. There, at the end of the left wing, is the Grand Maester, and with him is the person who held the breath of every person moments ago, her back turned to them.

She feels something prickly travel all the way down to her toes as an internal alarm starts blaring inside her head, and then the pale woman turns(Cosima internally debating if she actually turned on slow motion or if it's just her imagination, and why the image was vaguely familiar to her), their eyes meeting for the first time. Even with the amount of space between them, she is very much aware of the sharp spark that punches right through her, and her body's recoil which is just as sharp.

She barely notices Scott as he leaves her side, responding to Aldous' wave, only aware of her heart making a riot. _She looks like a statue, _she notes the other woman's sudden immobility and the way she stared back, _like she's frozen to the spot...good, that makes two of us._ Cosima feels an unexplainable smugness at the last thought, and then she sees them walking.

_Oh my gods, they are moving, she's moving . Here. No, nonono, wait, that might actually be better than the other way around. I'm absolutely sure that my first step would end up with my face flat on the floor._

She's seen this same person walk before, but this time, closer and with their eyes never breaking contact, she finds she cannot think of a word to even describe it.

Delphine of Lys was walking with graceful fluidity that gives the illusion of floating, arms swinging lightly, perfect curls radiated by the golden light streaming through the windows above them.

"Holy hair..hell. Holy hell." Even Felix could not ignore the allure radiating form the golden strands. Once again, everything feels like it's happening in slow motion, and with every step taken, every inch that disappears between them, Cosima's intrinsic riot grows into utter chaos, warning bells gaining volume. It happened too long but was over much too quickly, and Cosima finds herself under scrutiny by hazel eyes.

She does the same, looking up in defiance, trying to find an explanation for the ominous feeling, the distrust, the enmity, the animosity, the obscure ache deep within her.

_She looks like she's about to cry...but why? _She suddenly finds herself wanting to look away, not because doe eyes were examining her, but because of the emotions behind them.

Cosima does not break eye contact.

"Uh, uhm, everybody, this is Grand Maester Aldous and Delphine of Lys._" _Scott presents then turns to them. "And this is Lord Felix, Lady Alison Tully of Riverrun, and Co-..Princess Cosima Martel of Dorne."

"Thank you Maester Scott, I believe the herald has already done the job."

The blonde's eyes register astonishment for a moment, her head turning to look at Scott, almost as if she recognized him. The way the blonde locks flashed with the movement makes a hit on the Dornish brain, replaying an almost similar scene.

_It's her! That flash of yellow, it's her hair! She's the one, the black figure lurking in the shadows during my first day here. I wasn't imagining things, it was real!_

There is a sense of indignant conviction that swells within her, turning into alarm when she remembers something else.

_My dreams. A black figure always standing over Lord Ethan's body..._

Her heartbeat skyrockets, her misgivings and suspicion growing by the second, her brain trying to make sense of things and connect them; her heart skips a little when a pair of eyes look back down at hers.

"I'm afraid Lady Rachel is requiring me and the Grand Maester to attend another small council meeting."

She hears Felix, but doesn't look away.

"Will it be alright if I leave you with Maester Scott and these two lovely ladies?"

_Yes, please, leave. _She can't explain it either, but she doesn't like the way the Grand Maester was looking at the blonde, confusing her all the more.

"Of course. I trust I am in good hands." The foreign accent sounds like heaven to her ears. _Gods, the way the words curl out of her tongue and lips is...wait, no, I should not be thinking about her tongue and lips, absolutely not._ Cosima's annoyance and irritation towards the potion master grows, not liking the roller coaster of thoughts and emotions she's being put through and not being able to fully explain it.

"Hey, Cosima's sort of an expert too, she's always researching. She's the brilliant maker of the best wine in all the Seven Kingdoms." The princess doesn't usually shy from her achievements, but this time, she is standing in front of an acknowledged and revered professional, and there is still a part of her that recognizes and respects that fact.

_Expert in potions,who would have thought. It must mean she knows the exact amount of every substance and their effect, otherwise it would be detrimental. A small miscalculation could have catastrophic results._ A horrifying thought occurs to her.

_Hold on. Potion...poison. I've always found it odd that Lord Ethan suddenly died from an illness, and if Rachel is as cunning as she is, I can't be the only one... It can't be. _Fury burns inside of her at the mere possibility, remembering the image of Ethan's body , cold and lifeless eyes staring up at a black figure. She glares up accusingly, and notices the adoring look being thrown at her, and the reactions her body is making finally makes her snap in anger, cutting Scott off.

"It is an honor to have two masters here then. One of wine, and one of-"

"Poison?" she knows it is brash and full of hostility, but at the moment she just doesn't care, defiance fueling her.

"N-no, potion."

"Oh, right, of course, my mistake," she smiles but even to herself, it felt more like a sneer "it's so easy to interchange the two, just one letter apart after all, right?"

From the corner of her eye, she sees Alison move to face her fully, hissing a "What are you doing?" followed by an apology to the foreigner. "Forgive her, she's usually cheerful. She has had trouble sleeping, and events like these always make her crabby. I'm sure a proper restful night will fix her up."

_What, no. Don't apologize, don't trust her._ But even the Dornish cannot blame Alison's reaction, because she herself knows she isn't like this, is never like this, _except for this particular femme fatale. What exactly is it with her, what is her connection to all of this?_

"No, no, it's okay, she's right." Cosima was expecting a reason, an excuse, a rationalization, a defense; she was not expecting this, and she is disappointed at the lack of reaction. "Potion, poison. They are just a letter apart, as she says."

Alison decides to take matters into her own hands. "I'm going to accompany her to her room, to make sure she gets that rest, she's tired."

"I'm n-"

"Very tired."she is cut off, feeling her friend's fingers digging into her arm and already dragging her away.

"I hope to see you again." She almost didn't hear the soft murmur as she is being dragged past. Something in the tone makes her look; the eyes are downcast but because Cosima is shorter, she can still see the hurt and crestfallen expression, and she immediately feels sorry, suddenly wanting to erase the crinkle of worry on those brows and comfort her. She can only grunt in response, hating her self-contradictory emotions.

Even as she is being dragged away, her thumping heart doesn't slow down. _The growing distance doesn't even decrease her effect, by the mother, how far does she have to be for me to be able to breathe properly? _And she looks back one more time, as though one more look would answer her query. She can see Scott chatting nervously with his new supervisor who, while appearing composed and reciprocative, has an unmistakable melancholy marring her face.

Alison's incessant and furious dragging takes them out of the throne room; Cosima was sure that her fingernails are now embedded in her bone with how tightly she was gripping her arm, and then she whirls around to verbally pounce on Cosima.

"By the mother, what is wrong with you?" _What is wrong with me is there's something off about her._

"She was being polite, even after you insulted her, and you still refuse to act decently!" _I was actually so caught up with my stupid confusing emotions that the only thing I could do was grunt._

"You're not being yourself, Cosima, you're usually an open and trusting person, you always give people the benefit of the doubt, so why?" _Because I've seen her enter the throne room without anybody noticing her...except me._

"Why were you acting that way?" _Because I cannot shake the feeling that she's connected with things happening right now. And my dreams...I can't shake them off either._

"She's done nothing to deserve that kind of treatment, why do you have to be so rude to this wonderful person who is practically a stranger!"

"Because she's not a stranger!" Cosima snaps just as loudly, not being able to keep it in anymore.

The ends of the blue grey gown swirl to a stop, the sound of pacing footsteps halting.

"What?" Alison was more surprised at her words than the fact that she yelled.

The princess sighs, not sure where or how to begin, but she lowers her voice. "I've seen her before._" _

"What do you mean you've seen her before?"

_How to explain..._ "Remember my first day here, when we were talking in the hallway? I saw something, or someone...it's her." she begins to pace while Alison is the one standing still. "I know you said you didn't see anything, but I did, and I saw her creeping in the shadows and enter the throne room, where Lord Ethan's body was being prepared." Her hands were swinging in mini arcs, stressing her point.

Her friend shifts in place, a doubtful expression on her face. "That's not possible, the guards would have been able to notice her."

"I know, but somehow, they didn't. And I...I've been having these dreams lately. Someone wearing black.. "

Alison was looking at her strangely. "Princess Cosima, I'm beginning to think you really are tired." she steps closer and puts a hand on Cosima's forhead. "And you were also tired from your journey back then, you could've been seeing things. And even if you weren't, " she hurries when she sees Cosima about to retort, brushing her hand away, "and by some miracle someone did get past the guards, it couldn't have been her, and that was days ago. She just arrived, even your friend Maester Scott said so. You've seen how she looks, it would have been impossible for anybody not to notice her if what you say is true."

"I know what I saw." the Dornish grits out though Alison's logic is sound. "I can't really explain it, but it was her. She sets off alarm bells, I know you feel it too." Her companion stares at her blankly, unsure of how to say no, but Cosima can hear it loud and clear.

"Come, I'll accompany you to your room," Alison reaches to hook her arm on Cosima's, but is shrugged away.

"I don't need you mothering me, Alison! Yes, I may be tired, but I'm not going crazy." and she stalks off alone in frustration.

* * *

><p>"<em>Delphine Cormier. Not Beraud. You've already got your doctorate in Immunology, don't you?" <em>

_Merde._

_The expression on her face was twisting a knife in Delphine's chest, physically bringing her to her knees._

"_I'm so sorry." **I'm so sorry that I didn't know how to tell you, but I'm not sorry for giving in to my feelings for the one person I'm not supposed to. **_

"_I'm so stupid." She tries to reach out and soothe her, comfort her, trying not to let her slip away, but Cosima draws back, recoiling, she might as well have yelled 'don't touch me' by the way the knife was now hacking inside._

"_No, no, no you're not. You knew these all along." **Don't say that, you are far from stupid. You've always been too smart and cheeky for your own good.**_

_As the student calls out her deceptions one by one, the shame and guilt she's been feeling comes back a hundredfold; a thousandfold when she hears the words "I wanted to trust you", eyes full of betrayal staring at her._

"_You can trust me." **Please don't look at me like that, I'd prefer anger over disappointment any day.**_

"_Then you're the real danger, Delphine."_

_This was exactly what she was afraid of: Cosima slipping away, running away from her in all ways possible. "Get out!"_

"_Please listen to me" She was scrambling now, and she knows; scrambling to hold on to something, anything just so she won't lose this, lose her because she is being rejected by every attempt she has to touch Cosima. "Just let me...tell you this one thing. Just listen to me." **I never thought I'd bare my heart out this way...over your broken one, but I have to tell you, I have to let you know**. "I didn't want to fall for you. I wasn't supposed to..."_

_**Sometimes, I think it was unfair that you were my subject...I never stood a chance at not falling, I mean, how could I not? **_

_She swallows the lump in her throat. **Dieu, I just want to cry right now, but I know I have no right to.** "...but I have." _

"_How can I possibly believe that, Delphine?" The honest and sincere way she asked the question felt to the immunologist as if it invalidated all her feelings, and when she scoffs at her next words, she has never felt more inadequate._

"_It's not a lie, it's, it's not possible." **It can't be a lie. I don't think I've ever fallen this hard for someone, as I did for you, for me to choose my feelings over my career...I don't think I've even ever truly fallen in love until I met you. And this is a whole new territory for me because** "You know I've never been with a woman before."_

"_Yeah, it showed." It was a low blow, Cosima knew it, which was why she said it. Cosima, who was a fun, logical, forgiving person, who avoided hurting someone as much as possible, always aware of when there's a line to cross, went over and beyond that line, because she didn't just gamble her trust, she gambled her heart for this human puppy, every broken piece of it. It might have been said in the heat of the moment but this was different. This was personal, intimate; a shredding whereas the preceding moments were just knife twistings. _

_Nothing, absolutely nothing, until those three words has ever made Delphine feel like an utter failure and so helplessly insecure for something that she has earnestly and honestly pursued and wanted for herself because she wanted to. Her walls have been battered and broken but this...it went beyond those walls and obliterated what's inside. She stands, amazed that she still can, and slinks out of the room, tail tucked between her legs, and with what little prude she had left. _

_**I'll be damned before I let the first tear fall in front of her**. There was a tiny spark of anger and indignation amidst the pieces of her, but then she hears the sound of the broken sobs coming from inside, and it takes all of her willpower not to barge back in and do anything just to stop it._

Behind closed eyes, she was not just witnessing events...she was reliving them. Her breaths are ragged, the twisted and crumpled blankets a reflection of her heart.

"_There is no decision Cosima, you have one way forward, and this is it." **Circumstances be damned.**_

"_Out." It was barely a whisper, but for Delphine it was deafening, and she whispers just as softly, begging to be understood._

"_You don't understand." She was not willing to give up yet, **because everything I do is for you.**_

_This time, she does shout. "This is my lab, my body. I'm the science, get out!" It proves to be too much, and just like before, she strides out quickly, head hung low, not willing to let the tears show._

_The scene shifts to the clone looking at her with incredulity, eyes, once again, full of betrayal. Delphine, with her newly acquired responsibilities, doesn't know which hurts more, the way Cosima was looking at her, or the way Cosima looked. Her mind is whirring but her lips are stationary. _

_**She looks so pale, so fragile, losing weight everyday. **Her eyes drift towards dry and cracked lips, slightly ajar. **I wonder if kissing her lips would feel like broken glass, but if it were, I still would...I can't even remember the last time I kissed her properly, sincerely, with no worries and just with the love she deserves.** _

_The cracked lips move, a croak coming out, the sound breaking something inside the blonde._

"_How could you?"_

She jerks awake, her heart ricocheting in her chest all the way to her ears, her insides an absolute mess. And then she cries, broken heartwrenching sobs torn from the world that her mind is still lost and stuck in.

…

In another room in Maegor's Holdfast, a smaller woman is also twisting and turning in the sheets, shivering.

_She couldn't see the sun, there was only the darkness and the cold. She is alone, and she doesn't know where to go, but she forces her feet to trudge on, hopeful that she'll pass someone. She doesn't know how long she's been walking, but there, up ahead! A faint outline of something! She runs towards it, realizing that it was much bigger than she anticipated. It was a weirwood, a heart tree, the face carved on it looking as if it was crying. _

_Her hand slowly stretches out, gingerly touching below one eye. A squawk surprises her, and she looks up towards the sound._

_**Is that a...raven?** It keeps squawking, looking down at her. It was then she realizes that it had three eyes. She feels something warm trickling through her hand that was still touching the tree, causing her to look down in bewilderment. **What?**_

_A dark substance was flowing out of the tree's eyes, growing stronger and stronger until it was gushing out, drenching her whole arm and spilling on the ground below.**Blood..it's blood!**_

_She tries to yank her hand out in panic, but finds that she cannot, and the more she pulls, the stronger and more frantic the raven's squawks become. She heaves, one last time, giving it her all, and she tumbles backward, landing on her behind. It was eerily quiet, the squawking suddenly stopped and the tree has disappeared, even the blood on the snow was gone; there was absolutely no sign that it was there just a moment ago. She's breathing hard, still not having the strength to move. And then there is a single solitary squawk that echoes all around, causing her to turn. What she sees freezes her in fear. There was a pair of blue eyes watching her._

Cosima's eyes abruptly open, the panic still stirring in them; she wakes, her mouth with a gasp and a pounding in her heart, and when she touches her fingers to her eyelids they were as cold as ice.

...

Me to friends: watch Orphan Black!

Friend: Who's in it?

Me:Tatiana Maslany(and Tatiana Maslany and Tatiana Maslany...)

Friend: She the hero or the bad guy? Or maybe the anti hero?

Me:...Yup

Here it is, my first preview of the Master of Laws(actually, it was during the first council meeting, but I'm sure nobody caught that)I am darn bloody ecstatic to introduce her, because it's WTF worthy.


	11. The Dornish and the Dothrak

AN: I absolutely think that all the characters you're wondering if they'd show up have a high possibility of showing up...because Game of Thrones itself has too many characters and one can only do so much with OB characters...unless I get high or drunk or both and use all of project Leda and Project Castor. Mobilize all the clones!

Also, are people still reading this ridiculous stuff?

* * *

><p>When she feels she has calmed down enough for her to think clearly, Delphine starts to analyze things in the most logical way that she can under the circumstances. Still, the look in Cosima's eyes and the way her voice broke is something that would follow Delphine for days.<p>

_**How could you?**_

She shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts.

_**Who are you? It's like I don't even know you anymore. **_

_Me neither. _Delphine wonders if her younger self, the one who wasn't involved with the clones, with, DYAD, or Topside would recognize her if she saw herself now. _I highly doubt it._

_Damn it, how the hell am I supposed to endure this?_ She can feel another stab and another wave of tears.

_I had to keep on deceiving her for her own good...she always found out anyway._

A new theory emerges in her mind.

_That would explain things, or at least Cosima's behavior. I've seen how remnants of that other life still cling on to this one...my betrayals still echo for her, but I'm sure she doesn't remember. I suppose it's normal, expected even, for her to react that way._

She rakes a shaky hand through her curls.

_After the incident with Rachel, I had to fill in for the responsibilities...the decisions I had to make, the things I had to do...I don't blame her for hating me, when even I myself hate how I turned a shade darker everyday, for the sake of my love but also because of my ambition._

Delhine walks out to the balcony, hoping that the air would help clear her head; a futile attempt really.

_How is it that the only thing you want to do is save the person you love but the only thing you end up doing is hurt them?_

She understood, completely, and supposes that it is deserved.

_But still, it hurts, and the worst part is that I get it, but just because I understand why doesn't mean I am spared from the pain. _And as if on cue, the image of Cosima, angry, hurt, and broken, comes back to mind, trampling on the little coherence she managed to scrape back.

_Non, not at all, not one tiny little bit. _

She perched herself on the rail, her feet dangling dangerously over the side.

_I know this much, I don't know why but I have access and connection to my other memories, and now that I've been given another chance to be with her, a fresh start, there's no way in hell I'm giving up. _

A tiny part of her brain warns her and reminds her of her much bigger part and purpose there, of a world on the brink of destruction, but at the moment, still fresh from reliving her memories, Delphine didn't care.

* * *

><p>Rachel goes to her father's study where she first saw his will, or her study, now that she's about to take his place. She tries not to remember the times that she has come here, addressing bussiness matters, her father askng her how her day went and she answers "it went well" with her usual indifferent tone.<p>

She crosses the room and sits on the chair, focusing her mind on ignoring the pang of something,she doesn't want to explore it, and soak in on the power she now holds instead.

She hasn't come here since that night the foreigner arrived and demanded to see the body, but now, she has to because she needs her father's notes and plans, to get to know the Kingdom and everything going on if she's to succeed his place. She sorts through the piles and piles of unorganized papers and random things.

_How in the world did he run Westeros with all this mess? How would he even find what he was looking for?_ Her type A personality was cringing in disgust, missing the comfort of her previous pristine systematized sterile office, and if she could let servants clean and organize the place, she would, _but these are important documents, this room contains the important transactions and dealings of the kingdoms; I'll have to do it myself. _

Mechanically, she starts sorting the papers at the desk, but after an hour, she can feel the aches of physical labor, something she has never ever done. _I hate you for making me do this_.

Rachel Lannister does not sweat, she has never done menial chores, she's used to ordering people around, but here she is, sweating and organizing her father's study. The frustration of having to clean and fix his things finally gets to her, and she forcefully shoves the desk with a snarl. It makes her feel a little bit better;she sighs and places both palms at the edge and lets her arms hold her upper body up, closing her eyes with her head down and bracketed by her shoulders.

She opens her eyes, glaring at the floor where some of the papers now lay, somehow regretting her actions because now she has to pick them up. Huffing, she kneels, bending to gather them, and then she stops, her hand frozen in mid air. She squints her eyes at the small rectangular imperfection on the floor where the desk used to be covering. It is a smaller rectangle on one of the limestone blocks that make up the floor.

Anybody else would have missed it, but she is Rachel Lannister, and Rachel Lannister can spot imperfections as if they were the bane of the world. She skims her fingers over it, then slowly applies pressure on it. Nothing happens, and she tries pressing on different spots. When her fingers reach the top edge, she feels it give way, and presses harder until it slowly opens.

_A hidden compartment. How ingenious._

All her frustration evaporates, replaced by excitement at her discovery, only for it to return when she digs her hand in and pulls out scrolls of letters. They were unmarked, no signatures on them, but Rachel sees a name on one, and her jaw clenches.

_**My health seems to not agree with my drinking, but do not worry, little Cosima is all right, although she is now asking questions left and right that I have no idea how to answer. Damn you for giving her another book, I'm looking like an idiot in front of my daughter. Hah, you should visit and answer them, since you're the only person who can. She sleeps better now. And you should too, all is right in the realms, don't wear yourself down.**_

It was obviously from Sunspear, and she knows that her and Cosima's father were like brothers, but she never thought her father had a link with Cosima. She feels the twinges of resentment taking hold. She looks again at a particular line _**"But do not worry, little Cosima is all right..."**_

_He was worried about her? Asking about her? Did something happen? What is his concern?_ _Why is he concerned?_

She does not like having questions that are unanswered, which seem to pile up as she reads the other letters, all seemingly random and bearing no familiarity for her, but she knows that they mean something otherwise he would not have hidden them.

There is one particularly rough and primitive in appearance. _**I am not sure. Expect arrival to confirm. I warn you though, make no harm.**_

A nondescript one. _**They will be difficult to obtain, but it can be done. **_

Another roll of paper. **_The dark nights approach, wise Lion._**

_I swear I will get to the bottom of this,_she swears with determination, skimming through the rest.

A knock on the door startles her, because she has explicitly instructed that she won't be disturbed. She hurriedly puts everything back in its place, moving the desk to its original position, then stands up, her usual regal and composed self.

"Come in." Her voice was cold, ready to chew out whoever it is on the other side of the door, but when she sees who it is, she is more intrigued than irate, feeling a sense of deja vu.

_For the second time, she slipped past the guards. _

"Well, at least you knocked this time." she says icily at Delphine who was looking at the scatter in the room.

"He was never one for neatness." Rachel says in lieu of an explanation, "What is it that you came here for?"

"I would like to see the body one last time before you take him back to Casterly Rock."

"Haven't you poked and prodded enough already?" her voice was laced with animosity.

"No more. I only wish to see if there are differences, or if I may have missed something, although I doubt I have."

"You better not have." Rachel almost snarls.

"One final observation. Just to eliminate other possibilities."

"Really, if it weren't for your importance, I would have had your pretty head off your shoulders already." and she leads the way out of the room, locking and securing the door.

"Now that I don't doubt." Delphine replies half seriously.

Rachel half turns to her, and she swears there is almost a smile on her lips...almost.

* * *

><p>Cosima slowly approaches the altar, coming to stop beside it, and looks down at the former Hand's body. It was the closest she's seen him, she had always avoided coming this close to pay her respects, but now, she couldn't put it off any longer, because his body will be interred in the morrow. She reaches out, cupping his jaw.<p>

_I owe so much to you. You fostered my mind and acted as my second father. I don't think I can adequately express how much you influenced me. And even though our conversations can be counted on one hand, I'll miss them. I'll miss our intellecual exchanges. You were the best Hand this Kingdom has ever had. _

The lower part of her hand that's brushing his neck encounters a sharp line.

_What...? _she runs her fingers again, feeling the skin. It was almost imperceptible to detect, unless you knew it was there, _which must be why no one has ever noticed, _she thinks, then looks around at the solitary knight standing guard by the door, coming to a decision.

"Hey, hi, excuse me?" she smiles and waves.

He approaches. "Yes, Princess?"

"I was wondering if you could maybe stand guard outside the door. I'd like to have a moment in private, pay my final respects."

He looks at her with uncertainty.

"There's no one here but me, you can stand guard outside."

He seems to think it over, figuring that there's no harm in it. "Very well, Princess Cosima."

She returns to where she was, hanging her head, the very picture of mourning. The guard feels a sudden sympathy for her, and hurries out to grant her privacy. The moment she hears the doors close, she bends down, slowly turning Ethan's head to the left, looking for the line.

_It's a cut_.

She notices the way it transects the artery beneath it. She leans in for a closer look. _It's freshly made._ Her heart picks up its pace at this revelation. _Who would do this, and why?_

Once again, she remembers that dark cloaked person. _ Is this how they killed him?_ _Did she do this?_

In her crouching state, she notices something else, something not visible unless at a certain angle. On the small space where his chest was visible, she can faintly see another cut.

She looks back at the door, making sure she's alone for what she's about to do. Taking a deep breath, she unbuttons his top clothes, exposing his chest. She straightens, too dumbstruck for any coherent thought. There were cuts all over his body, one over his heart, another over his lungs, one more on the right side of his abdomen, and they all look recently done.

She was too shocked and gaping at her discovery that she didn't hear the door open, a sharp outraged voice echoing in the empty halls.

"What in seven hells do you think you're doing?!" She whirls around to see Rachel approaching with angry strides, the foreigner behind her. Cosima wonders what she was doing there with Rachel, but her attention is drawn away and towards Rachel's furious expression upon seeing her father's bare torso.

"What is the meaning of this?" Her voice was low, murderous, and under any other circumstance, Cosima would fear for her life, but at the moment, she is more troubled by Rachel's lack of reaction upon seeing the cuts.

_She knows. She knows about the cuts. _She can feel her own fury rising.

"I could ask you the same thing." she meets Rachel's glare head on and sees a pause in them, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Rachel's demeanor changes for the tiniest bit.

"It is none of your concern." she replies coldly, covering Ethan's body, fixing his attire. "Now walk out of here, forget this ever happened, and I might just let you live for desecrating his body."

Cosima forges on, not mindful of the danger she is in. "He was murdered wasn't he?"

For the second time, Rachel pauses. "It is none of your concern" she repeats, slower this time, each word punctuated with warning.

"Yes it is. The best thing that's ever happened to this kingdom was murdered" her eyes flit towards Delphine at the last word, whose eyebrow lifts in confusion, "and she's got something to do with it."

Both blondes were staring at her, one with shock and amazement, the other a mixture of wanting to strangle her and keeping a facade to refute the accusation, which she does in the next moment.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I saw her! Before her alleged arrival, I saw her slip inside the throne room after I-" _talked to you. _Dread, alarm, and chagrin blend in her head, noticing how Rachel was still immovable as ice. _She also knows about her._

"Were you in on this? Did you have him killed?" The words slipped out mindlessly, not having the time to be filtered because her head was racing. "Was this your plan all along? To be the next Hand?" Rachel's mask cracks, and she steps closer to Cosima, almost like a prowl, a lioness before the kill.

"Do you wish to reconsider your statement, Viper? You think I would have the Lord Hand harmed?"

Bespectacled eyes roll in annoyance at how formal everything sounded. "By the gods, you cannot even say his name. He's your father."

"And you are NOT his daughter!" Rachel explodes at the accusation she can hear in Cosima's words, as if she failed in being a proper daughter. It didn't help that, while she was brilliant, she has never connect to her father the way Cosima can in that intellectual scientific way. It also didn't help that she saw the paper with Cosima's name on it.

It is after she has left the throne room in shaky knees that Cosima realizes that this is the first time she has seen Rachel show a genuine reaction, uncovered without her usual mask, but at present, she was surprised by the outburst, wondering what Rachel meant.

"Maybe we should tell her the truth." A soft articulated voice reminds them that they were not alone. Rachel whirls around to face the other blonde, an unreadable expression on her face.

Delphine takes the silence as an opportunity and explains further. "She already knows that it is a possible murder, she knows I am involved with this, although not the way she thinks, and it's safe to say that she would not stop digging-"

"You're damn right about that." Cosima snaps, and doe eyes flicker towards her for a moment.

"-about this matter. It is also risky to dispose of her, because then, all of Dorne and Lady Alison will not let it rest. She was clever enough to come all this way, maybe she can even help, I've heard she has an exceptional mind, and I do believe it is true."

_You have? _Cosima is surprised, secretly pleased. _You do? _She notices Delphine smiling at her, and it was only then that she realized that she was the one smiling in the first place. She drops it immediately, annoyed that she apparently couldn't hold it back, annoyed at the small twitch of amusement at the corner of the potioner's mouth when she purposely stopped smiling, annoyed that she thinks Delphine smiling is one of the most beautiful things she has ever seen, annoyed that her chest is beating like a drum.

Rachel, who was still silent, still thinking of reasons not to act out on the numerous ways she has planned for Cosima to suffer, cannot deny the logic in those words, but mostly, she relents for the sake of her father.

"She can keep a secret. She would not endanger anyone or anything without having proof and facts." Martell and Lannister both stare at her, wondering what made her say those words seeing as they are still basically strangers to each other. _She can keep a secret extremely well, because she told no one of Ethan's cipher written in the book he gave Kira...not even her Alison or Sarah._ Delphine tries to erase the echoing "and not me" which she wouldn't even allow herself to think of.

"Give me one good reason why I should listen to Delphine of Lys." Rachel's eyes were boring down on Cosima, who she had to give credit for standing her ground.

"Because I intend to create more variety of alcohol and I have a business proposal for you."

The Lady Hand blinks, of all the things she expected to be said, this was definitely not one of them.

"You are not a business person."

"No, but I am the best vintner and soon to be best brewer, if you are willing to listen. I can leave the bussiness part to you." She gets no response, only a slight tilting of the head and hands clasping themselves in front of a thin gold belt, the one she recognized as the business pose.

"What is your proposal?"

"What is her purpose here?" Cosima counters, almost glaring at the person who she was admiring awhile ago.

For a moment, fire flashes in Rachel's eyes, subsiding as she gives herself time to simmer down, but when she speaks, it is with the same intensity. "She is here to confirm if he's been poisined. She had to collect certain parts from the corpse to be able to determine the presence of poison." She watches in amusement as different emotions flit through Cosima's very open and very readable face.

. . Then something resembling guilt.

As much as Rachel likes it with sadistic pleasure, she is also still very much murderous.

"Now what. Is. Your. Proposal."

This seems to snap Cosima out of whatever mental cognizance she was having." Yes. Uhm. The wine currently being made and shipped from Dorne is already top notch, but sometimes we cannot meet the demands from King's Landing alone. I can set up a cellar here, have products exclusively for the Capitol, save the money and effort for transport. You can even sell them if you wish."

Delphine silently watches the interaction, a spectator on the side. Rachel can appear indifferent all she wants, but Delphine knows that she would not pass up an opportunity like this. Then again, it's Rachel, and she takes insults personally.

"And what is it that you're after?"

"I would like to have a tour in King's Landing and High Garden's fields and granaries, I intend to make a new stock of ale and wine with new flavors, test new formulations and methods, along with the type of wood to be used as barrels. It would bring income for both the Capital and Dorne."

"This is not a negotiation."

"It is if I am to produce the best in quality."

The innate drive for Rachel to always strive for the best, be it something she does or something she acquires, finally rules over. "Very well, but I'll have to speak to Lady Tyrell first before you poke your fingers in her fields." She turns, finished with the conversation and about to call the guard outside to take her conundrum out of the room.

"Also, I request my own work place, I'd like to do my research here."

Rachel cannot believe this, her, the master at twisting people's arms, has hers twisted behind her back by _this damn Dornish._

"Fine." she sneers.

"Wait, really?" Cosima did not expect her to actually agree, since she herself thinks that it is already pushing beyond the line.

"But remember that this is the last and only time you will ever walk away from me without burn marks, not after accusing me and insulting me. Consider yourself lucky that there was someone here on your behalf, and that you had something to offer in exchange." And without another word, she calls out for the guard.

The princess was staring at the taller blonde who was smiling at her. _Why did she speak in my behalf?_ She doesn't know what she's feeling, which one to process first, because true, she may have had some of her questions answered, but more questions cropped up in their place. She feels a hand close in on her arm, and is suddenly aware of the gauntlet tugging her away.

"And make sure she actually goes to where she says." It was more of a threat than a reminder, answered with a nervous "Yes, m'lady."

Cosima drops her eyes, not ready to have her heart running all over again, but when she passes by Delphine, she is close enough to feel the warmth from pale skin. It makes her shiver, and she hates it.

When they are out of the Great Hall, she finally gives in to the shakiness in her knees.

"Hold on. Can we stop?" she yanks at her arm, forcing the guard to stop and look at her with resentment, blaming her for putting him in a difficult situation. "I'm feeling a little...shaky at the moment." his expression turns to worry as she leans her weight on the wall, her chest heaving and her eyes closed.

_Wow. That could have gone worse. I didn't expect for Rachel to actually accept my terms. I also didn't expect her to move hell and high water just to prove if it's a murder._ On that note, her jumbled thoughts become even more jumbled as the person who will be proving the murder comes to mind. _How will she prove it? What are her methods? And how did she know so much about me? How did she escape detection for days if she was here before she was presented? Why do I still hear the warning bells in my head if she didn't kill him? Why does it always feel like this whenever she looks at me, or when she smiles at me, or even if it's simply her is it that I always feel like running and match my heart's pace whenever she's there...I don't even know if I want to run from her or to her. _

Question upon question heap up on each other, making her grimace. The guard looks at her, unsure. "Where to, princess?"

"Maegor's holdfast" she decides having a puff of a certain Dornish plant would help her relax.

* * *

><p>It has been three days since Rachel watched the cart with her father's remains disappear in the horizon, bound for Casterly Rock. Donnie had offered a place in the Sept of Baelor, that he can have a spot because he earned it and is very much deserving, which is a great honor because only royals are interred there. She refused. <em>He would have wanted his body to be beside mother's.<em>

And now she's standing before the King, back turned towards the people who have come to witness the official naming, controlling the urge to grab the pin and put it on herself at Donnie's clumsy attempts to pin it on her finest dress. When he finally manages to do it, he straightens, beads of sweat clinging on his forehead.

"I present to you, the new Hand of the King."

She faces the crowd, mostly cheering, but some, particularly the older men from noble houses, wore long faces. Her glare reminds them of the fate of those who dared oppose and question her position as Master of Coin, and they rethink their decision, slowly clapping along.

The doors suddenly open loudly, and everyone turns to look at the interruption.

When the person who barged in steps into view, the whole crowd gasps as one, but not in enraptured manner like Delphine's case, but of pure shock. A brief silence hangs around the room, and once the initial shock is over, the silence is broken by the torrent of murmurs and whispers. Some were in awe and fascinated, (Cosima and Scott), some were flabbergasted and alarmed(Alison), most were aghast, horror and disgust painted on their faces as if she was an anomaly, which she sort of is. She stops at a small distance below the Iron throne. Delphine's eyes were wide with recognition, mentally commenting on how this is unmistakably the same person, but rougher, more raw, more primal and untamed.

They are unabashedly gaping at the coopery skin, painted with blue stripes starting from beneath the collar bones, stretching and forming a V to her lower back. There were braids on the right side of her scalp, dark eyes fierce and painted with khol, sinewy arms bent a bit at the elbows, leather wrapped hands casually atop the handle of an arakh and a curved dagger on either side of the hips.

When she speaks, her voice is rough and guttural, belying her feral intensity.

"_Khal vezhven_" She addresses the King.

* * *

><p>I don't know if this is a surprise or not, because I've been running on coffee for the past 2 days now. I'm pretty sure I have more coffee in my veins than I have blood. These characters have destroyed me in the most wonderful way.<br>Ok. I think I'll go sleep now, I'm slowly turning more and more like Helena the longer I stay awake.


	12. The Princess and the Barbarian

AN: Apologies, truly. Late update. Life sucks, I suck. Really sorry. Unedited, sorry for any mistakes.

* * *

><p>"<em>Khal vehzven" Great King.<em>

It was supposed to be a greeting in reverence, but by the harsh way it was spat from her mouth, it sounded more like scoffing mockery, punctuated by the stony glare she was casting towards the Iron Throne. Amidst the slowly gathering murmers, the notable people were still curiously shocked to silence.

The King looks flabbergasted, disbelieving the scene.

The Master of Whisperers is carefully observing, as if trying to look for something.

The Grand Maester is half up in his chair, a confused but almost delighted expression on is face.

And the newly officiated Hand of the King...well, she was glaring right back with the same intensity, sure that they were still all silent because they were all thinking the same supposedly impossible thing: a Dothraki just set foot in the very heart of Westeros.

She appeared to ba casually standing there, but in Delphine's eyes, she is a tightly coiled spring, an untamed free spirited mare that can trample and crush. And then she moves, her hand reaching towards her hip. Beth, Paul, and Art were the first to kick into action, stepping forward with swords drawn. It seemed to be the trigger, causing a chain reaction.

The dothrak has dropped what she was holding a second ago, letting it flutter to the floor and drawing both her arakh and dagger the moment she heard the sound of steel being drawn.

The Kingsguard were slowly circling her, armed to the teeth while the stranger mirrors their every cautious move, ready to pounce at the first attack.

Delphine utters an urgent "wait", prompting both Felix and Cosima to look at her in question, even though they agree to her hasty word.

The crowd's disquiet has intensified, some staring in horror and fear, some itching to see a fight.

Rachel's eye is drawn towards the floor, an image catching her eye, and before everything escalates and blood is drawn, she calls for them to stop. Her voice is drowned in the mayhem, and she puts every ounce of command and power in her voice the second time around.

"I said ENOUGH!"

The sound echoes through the halls, overpowering the previous cacophany. Everyone stills, every single one of them freezes and looks at her, even the fighters, rooted in their fighting stances. It gives Rachel the first power high as Hand of the King, and she revels in it, in the way people automatically respond to her, but then her eyes land on the enigma wrapped in leather, braids, and kohl. Half crouched, with both weapons at the ready, every muscle under the cooper tinged skin corded in anticipation, she looks absolutely feral and dangerous. Even though she appears calm, there is a jut in her jaw, the only physical giveaway of the unbridled energy inside of her. That, and her eyes, which were currently trained on Rachel who was gazing right back, who couldn't stop the involuntary shiver that creeps up her spine at the roaring fire she can see behind those dark dark eyes.

"Bring me the parchment." Rachel congratulates her voicebox for not wavering, her tone still crisp and commanding. The Kingsguard appear confused for a moment, until they saw it, there, splayed out adjacent to leather boots, a silent admonishment as they realize their mistake, that the Dothraki was reaching for this, and not a weapon. They were all hesitant to move, the danger emanating from her enough to hold them off, until the rustle of armor is heard as one of them takes a step towards the paper. There is a low growl in response, the eyes that previously held Rachel's gaze now focused on the knight who took a step, frozen in the advance when she growled and tilted her head down.

Beth puts a hand up, then slowly lowers her sword to the ground, and slowly getting back up again, but she notices that there is no change from the other warrior.

_I don't blame her, not after the way we almost jumped at her for reaching a damn roll of paper, even if we were just doing our jobs._ She puts both hands up in front of her, showing that she is unarmed, and with the same slow movements, reaches to take her helmet off. This finally ellicits a response in the form of a slow shift of the dothrak's head.

Beth's eyes dart down towards the parchment, then goes back up to meet the steely gaze, a silent request. It takes a moment, but leather boots finally take a careful step back, and another one, her stance and form still ready to spring into action any time. Beth steps forward, hands still held up, picks the paper up, then slowly retreats, their eyes boring into each other the whole time until she had to turn around to deliver the paper to the Hand, but not before she took a glimpse at it, her face almost giving away her own surprise upon seeing the distinctive red seal, before she schools her features and hands it over.

"My Lo...Lady Hand."

Rachel's brow rises imperceptively, and stares a little too long at the broken wax seal. She unfurls it, her eyes going through the words over and over, not quite wanting to believe their existence.

_From the study of The Hand of the King_

_No harm shall come to the person carrying this missive , shall be allowed entrance into the city gates as an honored guest and will be escorted to the Tower of the Hand upon arrival. _

And at the very bottom is a very distinct, (and to Rachel, very infuriating) symbol. The very same one pinned to her chest.

_Welll, that explains how she managed to reach the throne room. _She finally rerolls it at the sound of Donnie clearing his throat.

"What is the meaning of this? What does she want?"

Rachel turns her expressionless mask at him, and he almost cringes, trying to keep a straight face as he reaches for the paper being handed to him.

Once he finished reading it, he slowly glances up, meeting Rachel's very calm and composed face.

"If this is true, what shall we do? What bussiness did Lord Ethan have with a Dothraki of all people?"

_That's what I'd like to find out. _Her eyes catch the way Delphine was surveying the scene, and while everybody else looked alarmed, she looked almost worried, like she knew someone in the fray of knights and the solitary oddity in the center, all in their fighting stance, except for Beth, opting to lower her sword in a neutral fasion.

"Lower your swords." This from Donnie.

Lord Commander Gavin immediately protests "Your Grace, she is armed. Your safety is our priority."

"She won't hurt me." Rachel almost scoffs out loud. _Don't be too sure of that._

"Your swords, put them away." One by one, they reluctantly straighten from their stance and sheath their swords, while the newcomer still looks battle ready, never once considering to drop her guard.

"You can put it away, I've ordered them to stand down." The king was talking to her as though trying to pacify a wild animal. "Now tell us why it is that you had to come all the way here", he asks, expecting her to respond.

But she doesn't, she just continues to stare.

"Did you know Ethan Lannister?" he tries again, still not getting a reaction.

"Your Grace, I do believe our guest cannot understand a word you are saying." Rachel interferes, dark eyes shifting from the king to her. "She is a barbarian after all."

"Then how are we supposed to understand each other if she can't understand a word I'm saying?" he asks, then seems to come to a solution, and steps towards her.

There is an instant murmur from the crowd, and a litany of "your grace!" from a handful of the kingsguard. He does not stop advancing, causing the dothraki to tense, coiling like a spring, ready to attack, which the kingsguard recognize and they immediately draw their swords.

"_**Ohos! Os**!"_ Be Still. Don't move. The leather clad stranger turns a full 180 degrees at the sound, her arakh now trained on the person who just spoke.

Everybody, Delphine especially, freezes at the unexpected interruption.

_No. Nonono. What are you doing?_

There, in the front row of the crowd, someone in a very familiar light orange dress and microbraids has stepped forward, jerking her hands up when she sees the weapons now being aimed at her.

"**_Yer dothraki?...uhm..lajak_**?" You are dothraki?..uhm..a fighter?

Cosima waves one of her hands around as she recalls what she knows of the dothraki vocabulary, not all that sure if she said it right, but is deemed to be so when there is a hoarse and heavily accented reply.

"_**Sek**._" Yes.

All eyes are now drawn towards the princess of Dorne, and beside her, she can hear Alison hissing "You speak Dothraki?" which seems to be everybody's singular thought at the moment.

Please don't make any sudden movements. Those knights are protecting the king, and they will attack you if they so much think you are a threat, and right now, you look very very threatening.

The dothraki's eyes flit towards the Whitecloaks, warily surrounding her while pushing the king back to safety.

"Well well, it seems your cleverness has its purpose other than give me a headache." Rachel comments drolly. "Ask this animal the King wants to know what she came here for."

Cosima throws her a look, before turning her attention back to situation at hand, translating the question, but hesitates in translating the reply she got.

"Well?" Rachel snaps impatiently, "What did she say?"

"She says she isn't here for the king, and was specifically instructed not to talk to anyone but the Hand of the King."

"I AM the Hand of the King."her voice at a very civil volume but her tone brimming with danger. She boldly steps down to the ground level, brushing off the scurrying and efforts of the Kingsguard to protect her, and approches the newcomer who has now turned to look at her. She stops at a distance, a poised intersection of danger and elegance, directly addressing the warrior in front of her. "So you will answer my questions and we will come to terms." She does her best not to look away from those black rimmed eyes quietly sizing her up, resting on her chest.

_Why the hell is she looking at my breast?_

Those eyes glance up to meet Rachel's indignant ones, and she _smirks_ before giving a small nod, then lowers her dagger and curved blade.

_Oh. _realization almost makes Rachel blush. _Stupid. She wasn't looking at my chest, she was looking at the Hand's pin._ She projects her self anger outward, because that's one of the things she does best.

"Princess." she barks out at Cosima. "since you understand savage-talk, might you accompany the guards in taking this barbarian to one of the holding cells until a further decision is fully discussed."

Donnie immediately appears at her side, whispering his protest "But Lady Rachel, your father's note says-"

"Your Grace, I know what the note says, but there is no proof that it is from my father. As you can see, she is dangerous, her very presence in King's Landing is an anomaly. Until further discussion, she has to be contained."

He mulls it over, then nods. "If you think it's for the best...I leave this matter to you then, since technically, she came to see you."

_I haven't thought of it like that._

"While this matter is being discussed, if she ever draws her weapons again, it will be the last she'll ever draw them. Kindly make sure that she understands that." she smiles at Cosima who looked perplexed, paraphrasing it to a simple "no weapons".

Rachel gets a brow raise from the braided warrior, which almost seems like a defiant challenge, as if she knew that those two words weren't all she said, her anger visibly growing the more she listens to Cosima explain the situation, her grip tightening painfully on her weapons. There is a moment of bated breath, everybody waiting for her next move. She contemplates attacking, but her survival instinct forces her to acknowledge the fact that despite being a superb fighter, she is surrounded and outnumbered. Her weapons go back to their places by her hips, and there is a very palpable sense of relief from the air.

"Good." the Hand smiles, watching three of the Kingsguard and Cosima lead her away, all eyes trained on their retreating figures.

When the doors shut close and snatch them from view, Rachel grits her teeth.

_Brilliant. Now I have a barbarian atop the princess mystery I have to figure out. Damn it father, even in death, you still manage to give me problems._

* * *

><p>Beth, being in the rear guard, listens in on the conversation, trying to understand as much as she can as Cosima navigates her way through the dothraki tongue. As a knight, she is wary of this stranger, and she is not just a knight, she is in the Kingsguard, it is her sowrn duty to neutralize anything that might harm the King, which is exactly what this dothraki is. But more than that, she is intrigued.<p>

_She is a trained fighter, there is no doubt about that...a screamer...a horselord. _She tries not to smile as Cosima's hands flail around, trying to capture and grasp some of the words she's having difficulty expressing with, while the person she's talking to looks bored and wants to bail as soon as possible.

_Well, at least there's three of us protecting her while her curiousity is overpowering her sense of danger...although I don't think our mystery visitor intends to hurt her...she looks as though she just wants things to be over so she can get away._

She hears the princess mention her name, pointing to her chest, and she figures that Cosima is introducing herself, then asks what Beth was sure is "What is your name?". There was no reply long enough for Beth to think maybe she guessed wrong, until the dothraki glances briefly at her, then speaks in her rough accent.

"Sarah."it was spoken cautiously but with warning. Cosima, however, decides to let it fly over her head and smiles one of her goofy smiles, switching to the common tongue.

"Sarah. Welcome to King's Landing."

Her shit eating grin, however, is dashed once they reach the holding cell. Cosima doesn't know how to downplay what she is about to say, trying not to cower under a death glare when she does say it. _Shit. Okay. I can do this._

"Sara, I'm sorry, but you have to surrender your weapons."

Under the murderous glower, she starts rambling in explanation, not even noticing that she's speaking the common tongue.

"I know you don't want to, but Rachel, the Hand? She will make things all the more difficult if you resist, and trust me, she is one scary lady. And if you are to negotiate things with her..."

Ser Arthur quietly glances at Beth, unsure of how to proceed. Beth catches his stare, and interrupts before they all get winded from the word vomit.

"Princess. Tell her it's only temporary. I will return her weapons first thing myself if they come to a decision."

Sarah listens with the same expression, turning her glare towards Beth who was patiently waiting for her to hand over her blades. Finally, with great reluctance, she gives them up, looking up at Beth with a face that says 'you better return them'. The knight nods, carefully tucking the weapons under her arm, then turns to Cosima.

"How do you say thank you in dothraki?"

There is a moment of pondering. "I don't think there is a word for thank you."

* * *

><p>I know, I know, I wasn't satisfied with this either, it's rather short. I'll try to make it up on the next one. But it's hard to get things together when you can't even get your life together. Hurrah. I'm trying my best though. And your thoughts are always appreciated.<p> 


End file.
